Three years later, Haventon.
The early-spring sun was bright and warm.
I walked across a park lawn holding my 2-year-old daughter's hand.
She wore a pink princess dress and toddled after a butterfly.
Wade followed with a picnic basket, watching us with gentle eyes.
"Slow down. Don't fall."
He hurried forward and swept our daughter into his arms, making her dissolve into giggles.
I watched them play together and couldn't keep from smiling.
Then my gaze stopped on a bench nearby.
Two elderly people sat huddled together. Their hair was gray, and their clothes were worn.
They stared at me without blinking, their faces crowded with emotion: shock, excitement, deep guilt, and desperate longing.
Mom and Dad.
I had no idea how they had scraped together the money for plane tickets or ma
