As Anthony was walking away from my car into SeaTac International Airport, I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Before I even knew it, I had unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door into traffic, and cried his name out. Car horns blared and traffic cops whistled at me, and I knew my car was going to be towed for a very expensive fee. Despite that knowledge, and almost forgetting all my belongings, I ran around the car, tripping over other travelers’ bags. Eventually, after what felt like miles, I made it through the sliding doors of the airport terminal.

Far away in the distance, I saw him standing in line at TSA PreCheck. Gosh darn, I was either going to have to bully my way into a line with agents every two feet or I was going to have to buy a plane ticket. Hawaiian Airlines, Alaska Airlines, Breeze, and Spirit were my only options. I dashed to the Alaska counter because that was the closest and no one was waiting in line. Jasmine, the agent at the desk, asked how she could be of assistance? Keeping my composure, or at least thinking I was, I said that I wanted to purchase the cheapest ticket possible. Looking up from her computer, she furrowed her brow, clearly waiting for me to give her a destination.

“Maine, Maryland, Morocco, or the McDonalds in Terminal 2.”

“Next flight to Orlando is at 10:30, for $930, before taxes and fees, with a layover in San Francisco.”

“Orlando for $930?” Perhaps this wasn’t worth it. Quit while I’m financially ahead?

Realizing I would lose Anthony forever if I didn’t proceed, I handed Jasmine my credit card and booked this random, expensive, I’m-not-actually-going-to-take-this one way flight to Orlando.

Scurrying around confused and late arriving passengers who probably booked their flights months in advance, I waited in the regular security line because I’m not rich enough for PreCheck. Turns out, the PreCheck line is backed up too, as I can see that Anthony is just now approaching the TSA agent to present his ID.

Under the AC vent, I pulled the sweatshirt that I still had around my waist from our early morning jog and slipped my arms into it, one after another. Virtually without warning, a swarm of what must have been a SWAT team or FBI agents, but definitely not just the Seattle PD, raced up to the PreCheck windows. Watchers and onlookers stopped everything and saw my ex-finance, the love of my life, the guy I decided not to marry, be handcuffed and shackled and dragged toward double-doors marked for employees only.

X-Ray machines resumed to scanning luggage, and security lines moved again as if nothing out of the extraordinary had even happened.

“You son-of-a… what did you do?”

Zipping up my sweatshirt, now frozen to the core, I dodged my way out of line, and back through the same airport sliding doors I came in, likely entering a world I didn’t know existed before.