I sat frozen, the blood so loud in my ears it drowned out the engines.

I looked down at my son.

Leo was staring at the floor, clutching his little toy airplane so hard his knuckles had gone white, and the drawing — BEST PILOT EVER — was sticking up out of the front pocket of his backpack, crooked letters and all, the love letter he had made for the man now proposing to someone else over his head.

“Mom?” Leo whispered, his voice cracking in a way a seven-year-old’s voice should never crack.