My throat closed.
“You read it,” I told him.
He shook his head.
“I think you should.”
I wanted to refuse.
That was the strange thing about grief.
I could negotiate acquisitions worth billions without blinking, but a page touched by my wife’s hand could reduce me to someone afraid of paper.
Leah noticed.
Without saying anything, she moved closer to my seat so Sophie remained within my reach.
I opened the folder.
Claire’s note was brief.
She had written that Leah’s academic scores were exceptional, but that wasn’t why she wanted the foundation to support her.
What impressed Claire was a teacher’s letter describing a student who regularly arrived exhausted because she helped care for her younger sister, yet stayed after school to tutor classmates who struggled with algebra.
Then Claire had underlined one sentence twice.
Talent matters.
Character matters more when nobody is rewarding it.
I stopped reading.
The cabin lights blurred.
There was another line beneath it.
Please make sure Daniel sees this one.
For months, I hadn’t.
I had been too busy.
Too grieving.
Too afraid of seeing my wife’s handwriting.
And now the girl Claire had wanted me to notice was standing in front of me holding Claire’s daughter.
No amount of money could have arranged an irony that precise.
Leah saw my expression and became uncomfortable.
“Mr.
Whitmore, I really should take her back to you.
My seat is in economy.”
She began to shift Sophie toward me.
The baby’s face tightened.
Leah stopped instantly.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
For another minute, we stayed exactly where we were.
Then Sophie relaxed again, and Leah transferred her carefully into my arms.
This time, my daughter didn’t cry.
Leah showed me how she had positioned her.
“Keep your hand here,” she said, placing two fingers lightly against the middle of Sophie’s back.
“Not too much pressure.
She seems to like knowing somebody’s there.”
I nodded as if she were giving me instructions for an emergency landing.
“Here.”
“And the humming?”
She smiled.
“That part might be optional.”
“I’m willing to hum.”
“You don’t know the song.”
“Neither did Sophie.”
That earned a quiet laugh.
Then Leah reached for her backpack.
I glanced toward the empty first-class seat across the aisle.
“Sit here for a while.”
Her eyes widened.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
