since her father passed away.
In my left hand was a bouquet of red roses.
Three stems had bent during our flight.
A petal had fallen onto the marble floor.
I stared at it rather than the man behind the reception counter.
That tiny red petal probably spared him the response I wanted to give.
We’d traveled nearly nine hours from Denver to Chicago after a three-hour delay turned a routine flight into an exhausting ordeal. Lily had quietly cried at the gate when her tablet died. She’d eaten half
