A struggling single father sitting quietly in seat 12F was overlooked by everyone on the plane…

“They really should have separate sections.”

Marcus heard it.

Of course he did.

He had learned to hear everything.

But he didn’t respond.

He never did anymore.

Instead he focused on Liam, helping the boy buckle in and adjusting the tiny tray table so his toy plane could sit upright.

The toy had chipped paint and a crooked wing from years of imaginary dogfights against invisible enemies.

Marcus knew exactly when Liam got it.

Three years earlier.