“Are you lost too, mister?” Asked the Little Girl to the Lonely CEO at the Airport—What He Did Next…

Finding Help and Sharing Truths

Her small fingers curled around his, and something in Michael’s chest, something he’d thought had gone numb years ago, stirred to life. They walked together through the terminal, Emma’s little legs taking two steps for every one of his.

Michael found himself slowing his usual brisk pace, matching his stride to hers. He wondered when was the last time he’d slowed down for anyone.

“Do you travel a lot?” Emma asked, looking up at him with those impossibly blue eyes. “I do,” Michael admitted. “Too much, probably”.

“That sounds lonely,” she said with the simple wisdom only children possess. Michael felt his throat tighten.

“Sometimes it is.” “My mommy says everyone needs somebody,” Emma continued, swinging their joined hands slightly as they walked.

“She says nobody should be alone.” “Your mommy sounds very wise”.

They reached the information desk where a kind-faced woman in her 60s looked up at them. She wore a name tag that read Patricia, and her eyes immediately softened at the sight of Emma.

“Oh dear,” Patricia said. “Are we missing someone?”.

Before Michael could respond, he heard a cry from across the terminal: “Emma! Emma!”.

A woman in her early 30s came running toward them, her face pale with fear and her eyes red from crying. She wore jeans and a blue sweater, her brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

She looked exhausted, terrified, and relieved all at once. “Mommy!”.

Emma released Michael’s hand and ran to her mother, who scooped her up and held her so tightly Michael could see her hands shaking. “Oh God. Oh, thank God,” the woman kept repeating.

She pressed kisses to Emma’s head. “I told you to stay right there while I got our boarding passes. I turned around and you were gone. I was so scared, baby. So scared”.

Michael hung back, feeling suddenly out of place. His role in this small drama was complete.

He should return to his seat, to his phone, and to his emails. He should return to the comfortable numbness he’d wrapped around himself like armor.

But Emma was pointing at him. “Mommy, that’s Michael. He helped me”.

“He wasn’t lost like me, but he was lost in a different way”. The woman looked at Michael, really looked at him, and he saw recognition flash in her eyes.

It was not recognition of his face, but of something deeper. She walked over, still holding Emma on her hip.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, and her voice cracked with emotion. “I’m Jennifer. Jennifer Foster. You?”.

She paused, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “You have no idea what this means”.

“I’m just glad she’s safe,” Michael said, his own voice rougher than usual. “She’s a remarkable little girl”.

“She is.” Jennifer set Emma down but kept hold of her hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m still shaking. We’re traveling to see my mother. She’s—she’s not doing well. Cancer stage 4”.

“And I was already so stressed about the trip and making sure we had everything. And then I couldn’t find Emma and I just—”.

She stopped, seemingly embarrassed by how much she’d shared with a stranger. “You don’t need to apologize,” Michael said quietly.

He understood, perhaps more than she knew, what it was like to feel like you were drowning. Emma tugged on his sleeve.

“Michael, are you still lost?” He looked down at her, this small person who had appeared in his life for perhaps 10 minutes and somehow seen straight through him.

He could brush off the question, make some excuse, and walk away. That’s what he would have done a month ago, a year ago, maybe even his entire adult life.

Instead, he knelt down again. “You know what, Emma? I think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was”.

“Because you helped me?” she asked. “Yes,” he said, realizing it was true. “Because I helped you”.

Jennifer’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “I don’t want to keep you from your flight, but would you like to sit with us for a bit before we board?”.

“I think I need a few minutes to calm down. And Emma seems quite taken with you”.

Michael checked his watch, a habitual gesture. He had 40 minutes until boarding.

He could sit in the lounge, have a scotch, and answer emails—the same routine he’d followed hundreds of times before. “I’d like that,” he heard himself say.