When my husband told me he was going on a week-long business trip with his female coworker — the one he’s always close to — I felt my stomach drop. He insisted it was strictly professional, that she was just his assistant, but something about it didn’t sit right. Especially when I found out they’d be sharing a hotel room “to save company expenses.” I was furious inside, but instead of exploding, I decided to stay calm and trust my instincts.

The morning they left, I kissed him goodbye and wished him luck, though my heart was heavy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Hours later, as I was folding laundry and trying not to overthink, my phone rang — it was him. His voice was shaky, trembling even. “Baby,” he whispered, “I just wanted to say goodbye… because I thought I was going to die.” My blood ran cold.

He explained through tears that their flight had experienced severe turbulence right after takeoff. Oxygen masks dropped, people were screaming, and for a moment, he thought it was the end. He said that in those terrifying minutes, all he could think about was me — not work, not the trip, not even his colleague — just me and our life together. “I realized,” he said, “that I’ve been taking you for granted. I’ve been spending time with the wrong person.”

When he came back home, he held me tighter than ever before. He asked for forgiveness and promised to set clear boundaries at work. The promotion, the trip, the coworker — none of it mattered anymore. Sometimes, it takes a near-death experience to make someone see what truly matters. For him, it wasn’t success or ambition. It was us.