September 1985 – New York, JFK Airport

The majority of the passengers aboard the transatlantic flight shut their minds down into a light slumber – undoubtedly, an attempt to warn off the inevitable jet-lag. Thankfully, it meant none were witness to her tears.

On account of her childhood, Victoria Harper didn't cry very often. As a little girl, her mother had regularly ignored any pleas Victoria made for a hint of maternal comfort. Though Pascal didn't deserve her tears, they, and the sickness in her stomach, born from her emotional turmoil, refused to cease and Victoria was grateful for the darkness that shrouded the plane, both internally and externally.

In the row beside hers, the small child that had made her objections to their earlier ascent from Paris had been lulled to sleep in her father's arms, oblivious to the familiar horror their descent into New York would inflict. While many nearby passengers had expressed their irritation at the baby, Victoria had been far too dazed to notice the intolerable screams. The mere sight of a child reminded her of the foolish dreams her lovesick mind had hastily concocted; a dark-haired child with a charming French accent and infectious giggle, just one of many.

How contradictory her flight home was, in comparison to the high-spirits of her journey, just 12 hours previously. After several months apart, she made the ingenious decision to surprise Pascal, only to discover his passionate proclamations of love and their tormented goodbyes the day her temporary visa expired were the furthest thing from Pascal's mind. The fresh orchids flown to her daily, a romantic gesture to remind her of how much time had passed since their involuntary separation, were merely constructed to assuage his guilt. The uncensored images of Pascal and the unidentifiable female played relentlessly in her mind; the arch of her back, his erotic moan. Victoria's finger drew the invisible pattern of a circle upon her left temple and forced her eyes shut, in a hopeless effort to deny the betrayal she had witnessed first-hand.

Passengers began to stir as the male voice addressed them via the speakerphone and Victoria automatically clicked her seatbelt back into its lock. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It's 19:15 and we'll be arriving shortly in New York, in approximately fifteen minutes." On professional cue, the air hostesses began an extensive check of all passengers seatbelts and Victoria spied the bright lights of her home through the oval window. "For the consideration of those passengers remaining aboard for the forward flight to Dallas-Fortworth International Airport, we're expected to arrive in Dallas at our scheduled arrival time of 23:45. Those of you leaving us, on behalf of Delta Airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for flying with us and we look forward to having you on-board in the near future."

As the plane began its weary descent into the hurricane season of New York, Victoria braced herself for one of the coldest winters she had endured in years. The Mediterranean warmth she had so desperately pined for had been erased from her heart, in one mindless betrayal. What the future held, she couldn't fathom.


The half-hour drive from their penthouse apartment in the city to the JFK airport was hounded by silence. Every time Conrad Grayson's lips parted to voice at least one of his concerns, his throat dried and clenched up. In the same impulsive breath that his wife had announced her decision to enter rehabilitation, she demanded he have her driven to the airport, in order to the catch the first available flight out of New York.

"There's a rehabilitation clinic in California, it's one of the best in the country." The Betty Ford Center had become a world-renowned treatment center for abusers of either drugs or alcohol, sometimes both. "I figured, if it's good enough for Elizabeth Taylor…"

The sudden intensity of the international airport felt alien to his senses. In the wait for her flight, Conrad withdrew into his mentally protective shell. There was so much he failed to understand. Why did she have to enter a clinic over two thousand miles away? What had provoked her sudden change of heart? Every plea he made to have her consult with her personal physician had been shut down. Most importantly, was her absence as temporary as the twelve-steps she would endure, or as permanent as the after-effects?

As she rose to her feet, Conrad snapped back into reality. "Now boarding at gate 5, the 19:45 to Los Angeles International Airport. That's the 19:45 to LAX with Delta Airlines, now boarding."

"Steph..." How helpless he must have appeared, in that moment, like a little boy lost.

"Goodbye, Conrad." The poignancy of the moment reflected in the serenity of her voice and the wavering, half-hearted smile that flickered across her lips. Away she walked, suitcase in hand. No kiss on the cheek, no warm embrace and not once did she glance back over her shoulder.

Patiently, he waited and watched with intent until the sight of her platinum blonde curls left his vision. He couldn't quite decipher the strongest emotion; his relief that she had finally sought the help she so desperately needed or sadness that her decision could be the beginning of the end. Their marriage had always relied on her absolute dependency, for his love and his affection. When that dependency overwhelmed him, overpowered him almost, she directed her desires to a far more attentive master. If the 'spiritual awakening' Steph embarked upon meant she would have to rid herself of that dependency defect, would their marriage even stand a chance? The absolute uncertainty of his future dawned upon Conrad; it left him with an itching unease. Should Steph decide to begin proceedings for a legal separation, after her stint in rehab, what would become of his future?

A flood of exhausted passengers from a recent arrival surged through the airport and tore him from his reverie. Unbeknownst to Conrad, the raven-haired woman that despondently followed the stream of wanderers through the terminal was just the answer he had been searching for.