Micah was gone. The booth was empty. Panic surged through me as I searched the diner from one end to the other, checking bathrooms, calling his name, even peeking behind the kitchen doors—nothing. Just as fear gripped me completely, I rushed outside and spotted a small figure near the edge of the parking lot.
It was Micah, deep in conversation with a man in a real firefighter uniform. As I approached, I realized my son was telling this stranger about his dad—my late husband, a firefighter who’d died a year earlier in the line of duty. The man, Tyler, had known him. Tears welled in his eyes as he knelt and gave Micah a silver badge once gifted by my husband. That moment—unexpected and beautiful—became the first thread in a new tapestry of healing, woven from shared grief, kindness, and the enduring legacy of a true hero.
