My father turned to me, his expression softening, and for the first time in years, I saw the man who had once been my hero. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”
We walked to the jet together, the engines humming softly, a promise of escape in their steady thrum.
As we climbed the steps, I glanced back, half-expecting some last-minute betrayal of fate. But the guard remained by the terminal, a figure diminished by the distance and the decision he’d made. Inside the jet, the world felt quieter, the chaos and fear outside held at bay by this cocoon of metal and leather.
My father settled across from me, his eyes searching mine, and for the first time, I didn’t see disappointment there. Just understanding, and an unspoken promise that we would face whatever came next together. As the plane taxied and lifted off, I closed my eyes, my hand resting on the swell of my belly.
For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope. My father was right—ordinary might be an illusion, but safety, real safety, was something we could reach for. And with him by my side, I believed we might just make it.
