He was a self-made millionaire, and nothing had prepared him for the little girl in seat 2B, who had his silver-gray eyes, his dimple, and a secret about the woman he had lost five years earlier.
He was a self-made millionaire, and nothing had prepared him for the little girl in seat 2B, who had his silver-gray eyes, his dimple, and a secret about the woman he had lost five years earlier.
I’m Preston Calloway, and for most of my adult life I believed determination could solve almost any problem.
When something went wrong, I worked harder. When I hit an obstacle, I found another way around it.
That approach helped me build a successful career. By thirty-nine, I owned a thriving real estate development company in Chicago. I traveled so often that I sometimes spent more nights in hotels than in my own bed.
Financially, I had more than enough. I could live comfortably for the rest of my life with plenty left over. From the outside, there was very little I seemed to be missing.
But one Thursday afternoon in October, a four-year-old girl clutching a well-loved stuffed rabbit made me realize that success hadn’t given me everything.
That day, I was flying from Chicago to Boston for a business conference. I had booked a first-class seat because I wanted a quiet flight. There was an important contract I still needed to review, and I hoped to finish it before we landed.
I had barely settled in when I noticed a little girl standing beside me. She was trying to push her backpack into the overhead compartment, but it was far too high for her.
Her light brown hair was parted into two slightly uneven braids. She wore a pale pink sweater, and tucked under one arm was an old stuffed rabbit that looked as though it had gone everywhere with her.
She looked up at me politely.
“Excuse me, mister. Could you help me put my bag up there?”
I couldn’t help smiling. I stood and took her backpack.
“Of course I can. Are you flying by yourself?”
She shook her head right away.
“No. My mommy’s sitting back there. She said I could sit here because a nice lady switched seats with us. Mommy gets nervous on airplanes.”
I glanced toward the back of the cabin, then lifted the backpack into the compartment. Once I was sure it was secure, I turned back to her.
“There you go. I’m Preston, by the way. What’s your name?”
Her face lit up.
“I’m Willa. Willa Hartwell. And I’m four and three quarters!”
She proudly held up four little fingers. Then she tried to stretch out one more to show the extra three quarters. It didn’t quite work.
I laughed at how serious she looked. There was something wonderfully charming about the way she introduced herself. She was determined to make sure I understood she was almost five, not just four.
For a moment, I forgot all about the contract waiting on my seat.
Then Willa lifted her face and looked straight into my eyes.
I stopped laughing.
My smile slowly faded.
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