carrying a small boy wrapped in an oversized jacket.
The young man’s face was covered in soot.
He was injured and limping.
Yet I recognized him immediately.
I’d seen his photograph in our family albums countless times.
It was Dad.
I looked up, unable to speak.
Captain Michael Reyes stood beside him, tears streaming down his face.
“I was that little boy,” he said softly. “Your father carried me out of the wreckage.”
The world seemed to stop.
Eventually, the gate agent reminded Michael that boarding needed to continue.
He
