My father’s face darkened. “We can’t miss this flight.”
“Please,” I begged. “Help me look. It has to be here.”
But instead of helping, they boarded.
I watched them walk away.
My mother didn’t turn around.
My father didn’t stop.
My brother glanced back only once — smiling.
The gate closed.
And suddenly, I was alone in one of the biggest airports in the world, with no passport, no money, no phone plan that worked overseas, and a growing terror that I didn’t know how to name.
I sat on the cold floor near a charging station, trying not to cry.
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