She remembered when the laughter faded, how everything changed. It wasn't a sudden silence, but a slow ebb, like the tide pulling away from the shore, leaving behind only wet sand and the faint tang of the sea. What was left was a residue that tasted of salt, bitter and sharp like glass on the back of your throat. The slow realization of it had dawned with such clarity, revealing a landscape utterly different than the one she had believed in. She knew then, with a certainty that pierced through years of self deception, that the man she had shared her life with was a stranger, and the life she thought was theirs had been hers alone. The question was not how it had happened, but what she would do now with the persistent ache that had settled deep within her. She needed to shake it.

She perched on the edge of a worn plastic chair holding her Margarita, her backpack clutched tightly in her lap. The condensation on the glass mirrored the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. She traced a finger through the moisture, while the salt crusting the rim was a harsh reminder of the taste of her own distant grief. The lounge hummed with a low thrum of hundred hushed conversations and distant announcements of departing flights, each one a potential escape into the unknown. She took a large, bracing sip of the liquid. The lime was sharp, and the tequila was warm, spreading like fire through her chest. Courage, she hoped, came in a salt rimmed glass, or two! She needed it for sure. She needed to board the plane to cross the ocean and arrive in a city where she knew no one, at least not yet. The solo journey felt less like an opportunity and more like a punishment. Ugh, she was terrified doing this alone, but at the same time, her pulse thrummed with excitement. She finished the last of the Margarita, the ice clinking loudly with the sudden stillness of her own thoughts. She inhaled sharply, stood up, her legs a bit stiff, and slung her backpack over her shoulder. The boarding announcement for her flight had just begun. Courage wasn't in a glass, she realized. It was the willingness to stand up, and step forward, although she must admit, the alcohol helped. 

As she walked down the jet bridge towards the plane, she scanned the faces and movements of her fellow passengers. Each tiny interaction, each shared smile felt like a glimpse into a world she had only ever seen from a distance. Could you miss something you'd never truly known? Could you feel a void for a warmth that you never experienced? Maybe missing something wasn't about the specific thing she mused. Maybe it was about the awareness of a possibility, a potential for a connection that remained just out of reach. Perhaps the human heart in its infinite capacity, could sense the absence of something vital, even if it had never truly been held.