My Fiancé Chose Her So I Chose Myself Chapter 44
By the time we reached the airport, the first wave of flights had already been canceled.
Announcements, rolling luggage, and the rush of footsteps blended together. Beyond the glass, the tarmac was quickly disappearing under snow.
Almost nothing had changed.
The same row of service counters. The same endlessly lengthening lines. The same waiting area where cold air bled in from the doors.
My wolf recognized the place.
My heartbeat quickened, then slowly steadied.
Marissa gathered the team.
“First, headcount and luggage count. No one gets left alone. If anyone needs medication, special food, or extra warmth, say so now.”
One colleague raised a hand.
“I only have one dose of suppressant left for tonight.”
“I’ll contact the airport medical station,” another colleague said immediately.
No one acted like he had ruined the trip.
And no one demanded he first prove he was vulnerable enough.
Marissa looked at me.
“Natalie, what do you need?”
The answer I had practiced longest in my life was *nothing*.
I could smell coffee and toasted bread in the air, and my stomach tightened faintly.
“A hot meal without shellfish,” I said. “And a blanket. It’s cold in here.”
“Got it.”
She checked it off on her list without surprise and without telling me my wolf had always been strong.
We split into two groups. One went to the service counter. The other handled food and warm supplies. The luggage stayed where everyone could see it, and we rotated every twenty minutes.
When it was my turn to watch the bags, another colleague stayed with me.
“Rules say no member gets left alone in danger,” he said with a smile. “That includes the coordination seat.”
“I know.”
This time, I smiled, too.
Forty minutes later, Marissa returned with enough blankets. The bags of food were labeled with each person’s name and dietary needs.
I opened mine.
Hot soup, bread, and roast chicken. No shellfish.
No one forgot that I needed to eat just because they got an extra portion for someone else.
Before midnight, the airport medical station had arranged an emergency prescription for our colleague. The hotel sent room confirmations, and everyone had their own check-in details.
Once again, the elevator down to the pickup level was shut off.
Staff pointed travelers toward the ramp.
When I wrapped my hands around the luggage cart handle, the out-of-control weight from three years ago brushed across my palms like an echo.
“Hang on.”
Marissa came to the back of the cart, and another colleague took the side.
“Let’s do it together.”
No one seized control from me, and no one left all the weight to me.
“Okay,” I said.
The three of us guided the cart smoothly down the ramp.
The wheels did not slam into the barrier.
The hotel shuttle’s lights cut through the snow. The driver opened the luggage hold, and the team passed the suitcases up one by one.
When the last one was loaded, Marissa counted us.
“Seven people. Everyone’s here.”
The door shut, and warm air drove the chill from our coats.
I sat by the window and watched the terminal lights recede into the distance.
Three years ago, I had thought leaving was the whole story.
Later, I learned that leaving was only the first choice I ever made for myself.
Every refusal after that, every time I accepted help, every time I returned responsibility to the people who should have carried it—all of it had been me putting my life back into my own hands.
Flights resumed the next day at noon.
Before we boarded, Marissa did her usual count of passports, luggage, and people.
“Everyone’s here.”
No one walked last without being noticed.
As the plane cut through the snow clouds, sunlight spread across the wings.
I opened my passport holder. Beside the Thames Riverside pack insignia was a signer’s card for the new standards.
They did not prove I belonged to anyone.
They recorded the kind of life I had chosen.
When I got back to my London apartment, I placed the signer’s card on the bookshelf.
The music box was beside it.
The oil stain and scratches remained, but the melody still rang clear.
Outside the window, snow had begun to fall over London.
Belonging is not a blanket handed down as an afterthought.
It is not someone using protection, love, or regret to keep me by their side.
It is my right to say yes, and my right to say no.
It is being with people who respect my choices, while I respect their boundaries.
No one left me behind, and I am no longer afraid to move forward alone.
This time, I am the one choosing to remain in the life that is mine.
My life is mine.
The End