## Hazel's POV
The airplane touched down with a jolt that matched my hammering heart. After twenty-four hours of travel, Ethan had finally fallen asleep against my shoulder, his dark curls damp with sweat. I pressed my lips to his forehead, savoring these final moments of peace before stepping back into the life I'd fled.
"We're home, baby," I whispered, though America no longer felt like home to me.
Passengers rushed to gather their belongings, but I remained seated, postponing the inevitable. The flight attendant who'd been kind to us throughout the journey stopped beside our row.
"Need a hand with your little one?" she offered.
I nodded gratefully, struggling to balance Ethan and collect our carry-on items. As we made our way through the terminal, anxiety coiled tighter in my stomach with each step. Who might see us? Who might recognize the distinctive Sinclair features in my son's face?
