The woman who hurried toward him looked to be in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and a long gray coat folded tightly around her body.

She smiled with the relief of someone who had been waiting a long time.

“Daniel.”

The man stopped.

My heart stopped with him.

Daniel.

Not Grant.

The woman touched his arm.

“You made it.”

He gave her a brief nod.

For one second, I almost convinced myself Miles had been wrong.

Then the man turned slightly.

I saw his profile clearly.

The small line beside his left eye.

The crooked bridge of his nose from the high school baseball injury Grant used to joke about.

The faint indentation beneath his chin.

I had kissed that face thousands of times.

Miles squeezed my hand.

“Mom.”

His voice shook.

“That’s Dad.”

The man’s eyes suddenly lifted.

They found mine across the terminal.

Everything inside me went silent.

He knew me.

I saw it happen.

Recognition flashed across his face before he buried it.

His shoulders stiffened.

His hand dropped from the handle of his suitcase.

The woman beside him noticed.

“Daniel?”

He didn't answer her.

He was looking directly at me.

Three years of grief collapsed into that single moment.

Three years of sleeping alone.

Three years of telling my son his father probably hadn't suffered.

Three years of birthdays with one empty chair.

Three years of standing on the beach on the anniversary of Grant’s disappearance and wondering whether his body was somewhere beneath the Atlantic.

And there he was.

Alive.

Breathing.

Standing less than fifty feet away.

“Grant.”

I didn't realize I had said it aloud until Miles looked at me.

The man flinched.

That was all I needed.

I started toward him.

So did Miles.

But the woman grabbed the man's elbow.

She whispered something.

His expression changed immediately.

Fear.

Not surprise.

Not guilt.

Fear.

He picked up his suitcase.

Then he turned away from us.

“Grant!”

This time I shouted it.

Several passengers looked over.

The man kept walking.

Miles pulled free of my hand.

“Dad!”

That stopped him.

His entire body froze.

For two terrible seconds, I thought he might turn around.

He didn't.

He lowered his head and walked faster.

I ran after him.

Miles stayed beside me.

The woman in the gray coat looked back once.

Her eyes met mine.

There was no confusion in her expression.

She knew exactly who I was.

That frightened me almost as much as seeing Grant alive.

They disappeared around a corner leading toward the parking structure.

By the time Miles and I reached it, they were gone.

I stood beneath fluorescent lights while people dragged suitcases past us.

Miles was crying silently.

“Why did he leave again?”

I pulled him against me.

I had no answer.

Then I noticed something on the floor beside my shoe.

A folded airport receipt.

Someone had written four words across the back.

DO NOT GO HOME.

I recognized the handwriting immediately.

Grant's.