She did not stop.
I watched in absolute horror as my daughter collided with a different soldier who was walking a few paces behind Marcus.
She wrapped her tiny arms around his leg and began crying.
“I missed you so much!”
The stranger froze.
He was a rugged, heavily scarred soldier, and he looked so shockingly similar to my husband that, for a split second, my brain short-circuited.
They had the same height, the same broad shoulders, and the same dark eyes.
The entire terminal fell dead silent.
I braced myself for the devastating awkwardness.
I waited for Marcus to step in or for the stranger to gently push Lily away.
But as I rushed forward to grab my daughter, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the expression on the stranger’s face.
The stranger was crying.
Not politely. Not quietly.
His face had crumpled as if Lily’s small arms had broken through something he had been holding together by force. His scarred hand hovered above her back, trembling so badly that he could not seem to bring himself to touch her.
