Terminal B, Gate 14

The papaya sat untouched on her tray, its flesh the color of a sunset she'd never see again. Elena stared at her iPhone as if willing it to ring, the screen darkening and brightening with notifications that meant nothing—emails from coworkers asking about the Henderson file, a group chat flooding with memes she couldn't bring herself to mute. The flight to San Jose had been delayed three hours. Somewhere in Costa Rica, her mother was dying, and Elena was stuck in Terminal B with tropical fruit and mounting dread.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

A man stood there, maybe fifty, holding a coffee cup and the leash of an elderly golden retriever that settled immediately at his feet. The dog nudged Elena's ankle with a wet nose.

"She likes you," the man said. "That's rare. Her name's Daisy."

Elena motioned for him to sit. Something about the dog's steady presence made her chest loosen. "I'm Elena."

"Marcus." He studied her face. "You're waiting for news."

"Is it that obvious?"

"I waited for news once. My wife, in the hospital. You get this look, like you're bracing for impact but praying something catches you first." His palm covered hers on the table, warm and solid. Not a pass, just solidarity. "How long?"

"They're calling us in. Hospice. I booked the first flight, but now—" She gestured at the departure board, mocking her with its cheerful red delay notices.

"I have a friend," Marcus said quietly. "A pilot on standby. He might be able to get you on a charter out of Teterboro in an hour. Not cheap, but—"

"Yes." She didn't let herself think. "Yes, please."

He made a call, spoke in low tones, hung up. "Done. I'll drive you there."

"Why?" Elena asked, and then realized how raw she sounded. "I mean—thank you, but why help me?"

Marcus smiled, something sad in it. "Because someone helped me once. And because Daisy took to you, and she's an excellent judge of character."

In the parking lot, before they parted ways, Elena pressed something into his hand—a lottery ticket she'd bought on impulse at the newsstand. "I don't know if I believe in luck anymore," she said. "But maybe you can have mine."

He tucked it into his pocket. "You keep the faith. That's the harder part."

Elena watched his car disappear, then looked at the papaya she'd abandoned on the table. Something about its unblemished sweetness made her think of new beginnings. Her phone buzzed—her sister, texting from the hospital. Mom was still holding on.

She could still make it.