He gave a sharp incredulous laugh. "We're married. It's our honeymoon. You can't just take it away."
"I didn't take away your ticket, Julian. I didn't cancel anything belonging to you. I made a private booking for one person because I'm going to spend the week alone."
He lowered his voice, which frightened me more than if he had shouted. "You're punishing me because I'm handling a business emergency. There is a report due, Clara. I told you about it."
"You told me about the report. You didn't tell me you were bringing Sofia on our honeymoon. Those are different things."
There was a pause long enough for me to hear a gate announcement in the background. Then Julian said that Sofia had not wanted to come and that he had insisted because Westbridge needed their best work. He said an important client might withdraw if the report was late and reminded me how much his job had contributed to our plans for a future house. He never explained why a laptop and a phone were insufficient, why Sofia needed to be at a beachfront resort, or why I had been the last person consulted.
When I asked those questions, he accused me of making a crisis out of embarrassment. "You'll regret this once you calm down," he said. "Call the resort and put things back before we land."
The words were almost familiar enough to pull me toward obedience. I had spent so much time restoring peace after disagreements that my mind automatically began solving his inconvenience: one call, one restored guest name, one week of swallowing discomfort. Then I imagined sitting opposite Sofia at a candlelit dinner paid for by money I had earned, making small talk while my husband checked his phone under the table. I pictured doing it again the next morning, and the morning after that, until I had trained everyone involved to believe my needs were optional.
"No," I said. "I am not changing it back."
Julian fell silent. Then he whispered something to someone beside him, and I heard Sofia's voice answer. The knowledge that they were discussing my refusal together made my stomach tighten, but it also ended the last temptation to apologize. I wished him a safe flight and disconnected.
I expected to cry immediately. Instead, I felt strangely practical. I checked the passport in my bag, ensured my cards were working and saved the confirmation of every change I had made. I sent Nina my new flight information and asked her to collect the wedding gift envelopes still sitting in my apartment, not because I imagined they would disappear, but because I could not bear the thought of Julian entertaining Sofia in my living room while I was away.
Nina replied with a simple promise: "I'll check on the apartment and your plants. Nothing else happens without you choosing it."