Around us, the silence became unbearable.
I could feel the airport crowd watching.
Some people looked confused. Others looked embarrassed on Marcus’ behalf. A few stared at me as though I had somehow caused this, as though I had failed to teach my daughter who her own father was.
Marcus stood several feet away with his arms lowered.
The joy on his face had disappeared.
For one awful moment, I imagined what everyone else must have seen: A little girl rejecting the father who had spent two years away from her, then clinging to another man as if he were the one she loved.
“Lily,” I called, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sweetheart, come here.”
She only hugged the stranger’s leg tighter.
“I knew you’d come back,” she sobbed. “Mommy said you would.”
The soldier shut his eyes.
A broken sound escaped him.
Then Marcus moved.
He crossed the distance between them so quickly that several people stepped out of his way. I expected him to pull Lily away. I expected anger, humiliation, or at least confusion.
