Michael Warren tugged at the silk knot at his throat, adjusting his tie for the third time in as many minutes. The airport terminal sprawled out before him, a vast, impersonal canyon of glass and steel, echoing with the robotic announcements of delayed departures and the rhythmic rumble of luggage wheels rolling over polished terrazzo. At fifty-seven years old, Michael had spent more hours existing in these transit limbos than he cared to tally, but today the atmosphere felt distinctly heavier.
Today, the weight of every single one of those fifty-seven years seemed to be pressing down on his shoulders. The ink on the divorce papers had dried only three weeks ago, finalizing the end of a lifetime together. His expansive corner office downtown, once his sanctuary and pride, now felt as cold and silent as a mausoleum.
His daughter, Sarah, hadn’t returned a single one of his phone calls in six months, leaving him to sit here in a charcoal suit that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, waiting for a flight that would deposit him in yet another generic hotel room in yet another city where he was a stranger. He loosened his tie a fraction and ran a hand through his dark hair, which was styled back with its usual impeccable precision. His watch, a heavy, expensive timepiece he’d bought for himself last year to commemorate closing a massive merger, caught the harsh glare of the fluorescent overhead lights.
He vividly remembered how hollow that victory celebration had felt, drinking premium champagne alone in a silent hotel suite. Michael was staring blankly at the tarmac through the window when a tiny voice punctured his gloomy reverie.
“Excuse me, mister?”
He blinked and looked down to find a little girl standing directly in front of him. She couldn’t have been more than four years old, with blonde hair cascading in soft waves around an angelic, cherubic face. She was bundled up in a red coat that looked perhaps a size too large for her small frame, and a tan knit hat with little cat ears perched adorably on her head. A mint green backpack, emblazoned with a cartoon cat design, hung loosely from her narrow shoulders.
Her blue eyes were impossibly wide and shimmering with a reservoir of unshed tears.
“Are you lost too, mister?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to break his heart.
The question struck Michael with the force of a physical blow to the chest. Lost. Yes, that was precisely what he was. Not geographically, perhaps, but in every other conceivable way that mattered. Slowly, ignoring the protest of his stiff knees—a nagging reminder of age creeping up on him—he knelt down to bring himself to her eye level.
“I might be,” he admitted gently, surprised by the raw honesty that slipped into his voice. “Are you lost, sweetheart?”
Her lower lip quivered dangerously. “I can’t find my mommy. She was right here, and then she wasn’t. And now I don’t know where she went.”
A single, heavy tear escaped and rolled down her flushed cheek. Michael’s chest tightened. He immediately thought of Sarah at this age, how she used to instinctively reach for his hand whenever they approached a street corner. He remembered how she used to look at him as if he could fix anything in the world. That was before the late nights, the missed dance recitals, and the endless meetings had built a wall between them that now seemed too high to scale.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief—an old-fashioned habit his own father had instilled in him. He gently wiped the tear from her face. “What’s your name?”
“Emma,” she whispered, her voice small.
“That’s a beautiful name. I’m Michael.” He offered her a smile, realizing with a jolt that it was the first genuine smile to cross his face in weeks. “Emma, your mommy is probably looking for you right now. And she’s probably very worried. How about we find someone who can help us locate her?”
Emma nodded, sniffing, and reached out to take his hand with a level of absolute trust that humbled him. As her small fingers curled around his, something in Michael’s chest—something he thought had gone numb years ago—stirred back to life.
They walked together through the busy terminal, Emma’s little legs having to take two steps for every one of his. Michael found himself naturally slowing his usual brisk, executive pace, matching his stride to hers. He wondered when the last time was that he had slowed down for anyone.
“Do you travel a lot?” Emma asked, looking up at him with those piercing blue eyes.
“I do,” Michael admitted, looking ahead. “Too much, probably.”
“That sounds lonely,” she said, delivering the simple, cutting wisdom that only children possess.
Michael felt a lump form in his throat. “Sometimes it is.”
“My mommy says everyone needs somebody,” Emma continued, swinging their joined hands slightly as they walked, offering him comfort he hadn’t asked for. “She says nobody should be alone.”
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