I. Michiko never stopped hoping. That was her downfall, the uncontrollable romanticism that spurred her on, always forward, in search of Hiroshi. The plan seemed simple enough: get the guy, keep Hatchin, live happily ever after.
So finally finding him hurt. This scenario had played so many times in her thoughts that it was tattooed under her eyelids, ever-present. Hiroshi's eyes would widen as her silhouette approached, soften as she leaned in for a passionate embrace. Every fiber of his being would cry out, "You're finally here, my darling!" and then maybe Hatchin would cry out of joy. Hatchin's father, Michiko's (future) husband, a real family...
But it went nothing like she'd hoped. All it took was one look at his impassive look and deadened eyes. She knew, then. He didn't love her. And maybe he had, once upon a time, but now it was too late. Midnight was over, the illusion vanished into the night air.
And as she grinned up at Hatchin, who had her face pressed against the airplane's glass, Michiko felt warmth spread all throughout her body. She hadn't gotten the man, but the daughter had gotten her dad.
This was the closest to a happy ending Michiko Malandro could manage.