Five years ago today, we lived near Dulles Airport, outside Washington, DC. My husband worked as a UNIX Sys Admin near Union Station. We had an argument that morning, but I cannot remember what it was about. We were both under tremendous stress; we had lost our second child 12 days before. Our pain was still incredibly raw.
Because of the argument, my husband was running late, but he assured me he would be in no trouble and he'd make up time by cutting through the Pentagon parking lots, which were at that time open to public use.
I didn't hear from him again until he came home at 4 pm. By that point, I was numb. But he came home. He was the last person accounted for on our street, but he came home.
2,996 other people did not.