The Night We Returned to the Ruins and Reclaimed Our Lives
The airport terminal carried the layered scent of coffee, disinfectant, and something harder to describe—restlessness that seemed to linger in the air. That was the first thing I noticed as we stood near the security checkpoint at Hartsfield–Jackson, watching people move quickly past us with rolling suitcases and distracted expressions. Some held half-finished drinks, others ...

















