Chapter 9 - The Reunion
The rideshare trip from the airport to the park took less than thirty minutes, but every traffic light felt personal.
When I finally entered the guest safety office, a staff member checked my identification and led me through two secured doors.
Rhett was curled into an oversized chair near the far wall. His Spider-Man backpack rested on the floor beside him. He was holding a stuffed rabbit-shaped character toy someone had given him, but his own small gray rabbit was still tucked beneath one arm.
His sneakers did not reach the floor. A paper cup of water sat untouched on a side table.
He looked smaller than he had when I hugged him goodbye at Denver International Airport three days earlier.
Then he saw me.
His face changed instantly. “Mommy.”
I crossed the room and dropped to my knees. He rushed into my arms with enough force to push me backward.
“I’ve got you,” I said, holding him tightly. “I’m here.”
“You came.”
“Every time.”
“You really came.”
“I told you I would.”
He pressed his face into my shoulder.
For several minutes, neither of us said anything. I felt his breathing gradually slow. His fingers remained twisted in the fabric of my jacket, as though part of him believed I might disappear if he let go.
A woman from the park’s child-support team knelt nearby.
“Rhett handled a very difficult situation extremely well,” she said. “He stayed in a visible location, spoke clearly to the guest who approached him, and remembered that his mother’s information was on his backpack.”
I kissed the top of his head. “You did everything right.”
He leaned back just enough to look at me. “Miss Carol said that too.”
“Miss Carol was right.”
“She stayed even though she didn’t know me.”
May you like
“Some people understand that helping matters more than being in a hurry.”
The words were intended for him, but I felt their meaning settle inside me. A stranger had given my son more patience in five minutes than his relatives had offered him all morning.
