A millionaire sat waiting for his flight when he glanced to his side… and couldn’t believe his eyes.

His fingers brushed the metal, and there it was: the tiny dent in the left wing, a flaw he had never fixed. Isabel had once laughed, telling him, “Even wounded angels deserve love, Dad.”

Roberto’s heart cracked quietly.

“Where did you get this, little one?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Who are you?”

The little girl giggled, and, as if she had known him forever, touched his graying beard. Roberto felt something inside him, something buried for twenty years, stir, trying to breathe again.

Then a scream sliced through the air.

“Sun! No, sun!”

A young woman appeared, rushing through the crowd, her worn jeans and thin green jacket barely enough for the winter chill. Her face was pale with panic. She reached the girl and, with a frantic, protective motion, pulled her away from Roberto and pressed her to her chest, as if he were a threat.

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