The air inside the terminal always smelled faintly
of overbrewed coffee and something just barely antiseptic—
like hope wiped down with a damp cloth.
It was quiet for an airport.
At least, quieter than you’d expect
for the start of a family vacation.
But then again, not every journey
begins the way it’s supposed to.
“Do you need help with your bag, ma’am?”
a young attendant asked, her voice polite, distant,
practiced. She gestured toward
a battered leather carry-on resting near the legs of
an older woman sitting very still by the window.
“No,” the woman replied softly,
not lifting her eyes from the tarmac
. “I’m just… waiting.”
She’d said it more than once that day.
