She stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows in a light blue dress and white sneakers, holding a little girl around two and a half years old.

The child held a plush rabbit by one ear, staring out at the taxiing planes with a quiet intensity that robbed me of my breath.

She had my eyes.

Not similar.

Not maybe.

My eyes — the same rare, storm-gray my mother used to say looked like the sky right before a downpour.