When the train finally pulled into the station, I stood up, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing on my shoulders.
My daughter stayed seated, her music still her refuge.
I looked back at her, hesitating.
I felt the need to reassure her, to promise that everything would be alright.
But I couldn’t find the words.
Instead, I gave her a small smile, hoping it conveyed some semblance of security.
As I stepped off the train, the platform was alive with activity.
Travelers hurried by, their expressions a mix of excitement and frustration, all oblivious to my silent turmoil.
The train manager was waiting, a tall figure with a stern yet approachable demeanor.
I approached him, my heart in my throat.
