The airport was heavy with a quiet, sterile tension. She asked, softly, almost to herself: “Will we make it?”
I looked at her, then at her daughter. My answer wasn’t a rehearsed speech; it was just the truth: “We will do what we can. That’s all we can promise, and it will be enough.”
Tears traced quiet paths down their faces. I carried that weight with me—their fear and their hope—as I walked toward immigration. Every step felt heavier, a physical echo of the responsibility I was taking back with me.
And the line closed behind me.
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