Joe stared at the ticket. He would have arrived right about this time. Instead he still sat on his balcony, the humidity and smog bringing on a bout of coughing. He'd not dared log on, the laptop on the table, pushed away from him.

'You okay dad?' His eldest daughter popped her head out and he fought to clear his mind.

'I'm fine dear. Give me a few minutes then we can watch that movie.'

He mustered energy and pulled the laptop closer, powering it up. Checked to see of she'd published anything new first, expecting one of those pieces. She wrote best when emotions overwhelmed her, when she was lost in pain or the uncertainty within any given moment; he'd understood what drove and wrenched those special words from her.

What the hell? Her profile was gone? She was gone! Her beautiful writing had all been deleted?

He felt himself tremble despite the heat. Logged on to Facebook next but she'd disappeared from there as well. He sent a message to her son. "Is your mother okay?" No reply came. Email? He frantically sent a hello... only to have it return undelivered minutes later. He searched through all their messages, looking for her phone number, ignoring his daughter's pleas to "Hurry it up dad!"

Call her? Now? He had no idea how to do that. He searched online for the relevant prefixes. Fingers sweating, getting the numbers wrong time and time, until... until he heard the foreign voice... "The number you have called has been disconnected."

It only left her address. He had that at least. He sat back, suddenly understanding the fantasy was over. Then a series of questions horrified him, questions suddenly filtering through his defenses, perhaps due to the shock of losing her. Had she been a way to escape his life - perhaps to tolerate his life? Had he in fact been using her?

She'd written once, "There can only ever be a third in a relationship if there is room for a third." There had been room for her, undoubtedly. He'd even told her this: "My wife does not share my passion for books or for writing." The door was open, and she'd stepped through and he'd allowed this stepping through because they both shared these twin loves... This needed to be fixed, one way or another. Didn't it? Yet how? He could not now breathe life to something dead. He was dead to her, he got it. She had withdrawn back to where she dwelled - back to... oh how he detested himself!

'Dad! Come on!'

He stood; shut down the laptop and placed it in his satchel. The airline ticket... he placed that in his shirt pocket - for now. It was useless, yet he could not find it in him to tear it up, throw it away.

'Finally!'

He sat down next to his daughters and reached for a cookie. 'So what are we watching tonight?'

'What? No laptop? And a cookie?'

'Might give that a rest for a while. And I've missed these,' he replied taking a small bite.

His younger daughter stared at him suspiciously. 'You okay dad? You look kinda weird.'

'Just tired. Too much sun maybe.'

'Hey, remember how you said I could think about the airplane thing-'

'Nuh, changed my mind. I don't think we'll like the cold that much.'

'Okay then.'

He sat through the entire film. Once or twice he even offered up the odd comment, or answered a question from one of the girls. His mind though... it was somewhere else. And he didn't know how to bring it back.