This Was Not The Plan - Chapter 1 - Final Calls

 
Jacqueline Smith tugged her suitcase through the crowded airport, her boarding pass clutched tightly in one hand as she muttered under her breath. “Why won’t he pick up?” she hissed, stabbing at her phone again. Voicemail. Of course. Of course.

Hans—her fiancé, the one she had supported through medical school and cheered on while he built his celebrity doctor career—was apparently perfecting the art of disappearing.

She had called him countless times since their fight about his latest medical talk show premiere, where he’d gone with some dazzling assistant and completely “forgotten” to invite her. Not that she was expecting an invitation—after all, this was Hans—but being ignored still stung.

There was no time for self-pity—not when her passport, her bag, and her sanity all depended on making this flight on time. Jacqueline shot a glare at the departure board and whispered, “Fine. Ignore me. I’ll deal with this when you finally remember I exist.”

Ahead, a cluster of fellow United Nations volunteers gathered near the seating area, checking laptops and reviewing mission documents. Jacqueline recognized some from the pre-departure briefing, and the rest were new faces, likely drawn from medical, public health, and logistics backgrounds. Each carried the quiet intensity of people about to enter a high-stakes field mission.

“Jacq!” A familiar voice cut through the terminal’s hum. Dr. Ethan Ross, the team leader for the Sudan deployment, approached with a clipboard tucked under his arm. A friend since med school, he had overseen many of her rotations and now carried the professional authority of a seasoned field coordinator. His presence was grounding.

“Still no response from Hans?” Ethan asked, glancing at her phone. His tone was professional, with just enough humor to keep it human. Jacqueline rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, and nodded.

“Not a single call. But I have bigger things to worry about—patient records, immunization logs, flight manifest… this mission won’t run itself.” She adjusted the strap of her bag, already running through the pre-departure checklist in her mind: medical supplies, emergency kits, patient intake forms, and security protocols.

The line at the check-in counter moved slowly, giving Jacqueline just enough time to scan the volunteers around her. Some were reviewing mission protocols on tablets, others quietly discussing supply logistics. A few exchanged jokes, but most carried the focused, almost clinical air of professionals heading into a humanitarian field operation.

“Smith, Jacqueline?” The agent’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She stepped forward, handing over her passport and boarding pass.

“All set for Sudan, Ms. Smith,” the agent said, tapping at the screen. “Your medical kit will be checked as cargo. Please proceed to gate 14 for boarding.”

Jacqueline nodded, pocketing her passport. Her gaze swept over the team again. There was Ethan, reviewing the team manifest with quiet precision, clipboard in hand. A few meters away, Dr. Laila Chen, an infectious disease specialist, was double-checking her laptop against the supply checklist. Another volunteer, a logistics officer named Ahmed, was already coordinating with the airline staff to ensure the cargo of medical kits and vaccines was loaded properly.

She approached Ethan, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in her chest. “Everything running smoothly?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound professional, though part of her resented that once she was in the air, Hans wouldn’t even know she’d left. The thought made her stomach tighten. It wasn’t the mission she feared—her hospital had assured her it was safe—but the weeks ahead, completely out of reach from him, and his usual disregard for her whereabouts, felt like a sharp pinch she couldn’t ignore.

Ethan glanced at her clipboard, then at her, and gave a brief nod. “All clear. Everyone’s accounted for, and the medical kits are loaded. We’re good to go.” His eyes lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, just enough to convey attentiveness without words. Jacqueline offered a tight-lipped smile, instinctively appreciating his quiet competence.

The line at the gate moved efficiently, but Jacqueline’s fingers hovered over her phone as if willing it to ring. She typed Hans’ number one last time, paused, then deleted it. Does love always feel like this? she wondered. Do I need care, comfort, and some certainty—or am I just being ridiculous, insecure, controlling? She pressed the phone into her bag. There was nothing more she could do now.

Boarding began, and she shuffled forward, suitcase in hand. Fellow volunteers greeted each other with polite smiles and brief chatter. Some carried laptops or field manuals; others lugged first-aid kits and emergency supplies. Despite her nerves, Jacqueline felt a flicker of camaraderie.

“Seat 12A,” the flight attendant directed, and she slid into the aisle beside Ethan, who already had his gear stowed and a clipboard balanced neatly on his lap.

“You look like you’re about to hatch a complex surgical plan instead of flying to Sudan,” he remarked lightly, glancing at her tightly packed bag. “Try not to overthink it. We’ll survive the flight.”

Jacqueline forced a small smile. “I’ll do my best. But it’s hard not to think.” Her thoughts immediately drifted back to Hans—how he’d ignored her calls, how easy it was for him to vanish, how difficult it was for her to know if he even cared. She sighed quietly, half to herself.

Ethan noticed. Without commenting directly, he nudged a folded map of the mission’s field sites toward her. “Here. Look at this instead—remember the clinic layout we planned during orientation? You’ll appreciate seeing it in one place before we land.”

Jacqueline glanced at the map and found herself absorbed, studying the logistics of mobile clinics, supply points, and local health posts. Slowly, the tight knot in her chest loosened. The thoughtfulness wasn’t lost on her—he didn’t need to do this, but he had. She dismissed the flutter in her stomach as gratitude for a friend who cared about the work as much as she did.

Around her, the team settled into their seats, exchanging small talk and sharing tips for handling long-haul flights in tropical climates. Jacqueline contributed some advice about hydration and meal planning, though part of her mind still lingered on Hans. She wondered if what she wanted from him was fair—or merely a reflection of all the control and disregard she’d grown up around.

The hum of the engines rose, signaling the imminent takeoff, and Jacqueline pressed her phone into her bag again, inhaling slowly. There was no turning back now, no calls, no answers—just the mission ahead. And beside her, Ethan quietly monitored the team’s seating plan, adjusting a seatbelt for another volunteer without making a scene, his calm attentiveness a subtle reminder that some people notice details others miss.