At Gate B12 in Seattle, a 5-year-old girl whispered, “Daddy went to heaven, and stepmom said we were too hard to keep.” The woman
I kept the burner phone shielded in my palm, its cracked screen still glowing with that chilling message. The kids are a dead end. I looked back at Maisie and Jonah. They sat perfectly still on the terminal bench, two tiny ghosts anchored to a busy world by a worn stuffed dog. I crouched down…