The airport, dyed in the colors of twilight. Today, too, countless aircraft depart for their respective destinations, and return once more. As an air traffic controller, I had been watching the sky all day. During work, I treat every flight equally. Even if the person piloting that aircraft is—my husband. "Flight XX, cleared to land." We exchange only the prescribed words, and I watch over the aircraft as it touches down safely on the runway. In that moment, deep in my heart, I quietly breathe a sigh of relief. I brought you home safely again today. My shift ends, and I open the front door to our home. Just then, the familiar sound of a key turning overlaps with mine. It seems he's just gotten home, too.