He sat with his wife’s photo, waiting for a son who had already boarded without him

Brixell’s fluorescent despair.

A receptionist greeted me by name.

— Welcome, Ms. Miles. Mr. Cole is expecting you.

Expecting me. Not squeezing me between emergencies. Not summoning me out of obligation. Expecting.

I followed her through a corridor lined with collaborative rooms. Whiteboards filled with ideas. Teams in fluid motion. No raised voices. No continue reading …