That was inevitable.

What I hadn’t anticipated was how quickly the attention would become a burden to four eight-year-olds who’d come hoping to meet family.

Olivia stood beside the Christmas tree, holding a silver paper star she’d made at school.

“Are we still having dinner?”

Her question almost made me cry.

She’d spent the flight talking about a grandmother who might like her drawings and a grandfather she had never met.

The older man’s portrait over the fireplace had been her first lesson that some reunions could never happen.