On my very first flight as a captain, a passenger started choking in first class. When I ran out to save him, I saw the same birthmark that had haunted my entire childhood. The man I’d spent 20 years searching for was suddenly lying at my feet — and he wasn’t who I thought he was.For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the sky.It all started with an old, crinkled photograph they showed me at the orphanage where I grew up.I was about five years old in that picture. I was sitting in the cockpit of a small airplane, grinning like I owned the entire horizon.Behind me stood a man wearing a pilot’s cap, and I spent 20 years believing that man was my father.

He had his hand on my shoulder, and a massive, dark birthmark stretched across one side of his face.That photograph was the single most important thing in my life. It was a connection to my past and a path for my future.Every time life tried to knock me off course, I went back to it.When I failed my first written exam, when my savings ran out halfway through flight school, when I worked double shifts just to afford simulator hours, I kept that photo folded in my wallet.On the worst nights, I’d take it out and study it like a map.I told myself it wasn’t random. That someone had put me in that cockpit for a reason.When instructors said I didn’t have the background or the money to be a successful pilot, I believed the photo more than them.That picture pushed me through ground school, endless simulators, and every setback I encountered.I was sure that if I could just sit in that seat again, with the sky all around me, everything in my life would finally make sense.