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

toward the gates. “Aren’t we going on a trip?”

“Yes,” I lied, my voice firm. “But not the one they planned.”

I wrapped his scarf around his neck. As we walked toward the exit, I heard my name. “Elena!”

I turned. Mom stood by the escalator, her heels clacking against the tile, mascara smudged, her phone still in hand. Dad was behind her, stiff and silent.continue reading …