Right after my husband left for his business trip, my six-year-old gripped my hand and quietly said, “Mom… we can’t go back home. This morning I heard Dad on the phone, talking about something that involves us and it didn’t sound right.” So we didn’t go back.

That’s what I thought that Thursday morning at O’Hare.

I stood under the bright lights, watching my husband walk away for another short business trip. Everything looked normal. Everything felt routine.

“Houston.

I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone,” Dominic said, kissing my forehead like always.

Then my son Toby grabbed my hand tightly.

“Mom… we can’t go home,” he whispered.

At first, I almost smiled. Kids imagine things. They hear bits of conversations and turn them into fears.

But his eyes… they weren’t imagining anything.