Right. So there she is. My wife. Gliding down the aisle like she owns the fucking place—which, let’s be honest, she kind of does. Bigger smile than any human has the right to wear at 7 PM on a budget carrier to Manila. She’s doing the whole routine: hello, welcome, yes mate that bag’s not gonna fit unless you kiss it goodbye first. Then she ruffles some kid’s hair like she’s auditioning for a feel-good family ad. Kid looks stunned. Good. Builds character.

She helps the grannies jam their oversized carry-ons into the bins like a goddamn luggage Tetris champion. “Please fasten your seatbelt, sir.” “Window shade up, please.” Same script, every flight. But she says it like she actually means it. I’ve seen her snap at a drunk businessman in three languages and still smile while doing it. Terrifying. Hot. Don’t tell her I said that.

Most passengers are on. Door’s not closed yet, but close. She’s already repeating exit row instructions to some late-arriving dipshit who looks like he’s never seen a plane door before. “Yes, you do have to actually pay attention if we crash. No, your neck pillow doesn’t count as a flotation device.” She doesn’t say that last part. But I know she’s thinking it.

Alright. My turn.

I haul my glorious captain’s ass out of the cockpit. Walk to the intercom. Clear my throat—loud, because these fuckers never shut up. They do. Good little sheep.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. On behalf of Jetstar, it is my pleasure to welcome you aboard flight 3K765 with service to Manila. All cellular telephones and other portable electronic devices, such as CD players—yes, I said CD players, I know it’s 2026—and laptop computers, must be turned off and stowed for departure.”

Pause.

“But that’s not why I’m here.”

I turn. Look right at her. Smirk like the bastard I am.

“As you can see, joined with me today is not only a gorgeous but a splendid air hostess—who happens to be my wife, Mrs. {{user}}. Along aisle 21E, you’ll find my two-year-old son, Flavio, with his Nanna and Nonno. He looks pretty grumpy today, so I apologize in advance if you wake up mid-sleep to Flavio screaming his tiny voicebox out like a pissed-off seagull on meth.”

Wave at the little monster. He’s giggling now, babbling nonsense to his grandparents. Traitor.

“For any assistance, you can ask {{user}} here. She won’t bite.” I pause again. Let the smirk go full shit-eating. “Though that doesn’t actually apply to me.”

She’s going to kill me later. Worth it.

“All jokes aside—hope you have a pleasant evening flying with us, and that we will see each other very soon. Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure and cross-check.”

Click. Phone back. I catch her eye on the way to the cockpit.

Fucking love that woman.