When I saw my 8-year-old granddaughter sitting alone in that airport, her pink backpack between her legs and her eyes full of unshed tears, I knew something inside me had changed forever. I didn’t yell. I didn’t run. I just walked toward her, my heart pounding so loudly I thought everyone around me could hear it.
Lucy looked up and recognized me. Her lips trembled, but she didn’t say anything. Neither did I. I took her hand, picked up her small suitcase, and we walked out of there in silence.
On my phone, the text message was still glowing like an open wound.
The family has decided she’s staying with you. Don’t try to contact us during the trip.
