A fighters story

Previously

…Slowly it pulled away into the mist, carrying Uncle Michael until even the tail lights faded into the gray toward Glasgow. As they turned to walk back up the hill, Simon glanced down. Two-year-old Michael was already forgetting the moment, kicking at a frozen clod of mud in the path, his curls bouncing with every step. He had no idea what the distance across the ocean meant. Simon didn’t fully understand it either—but he understood the look on his father’s face. He squeezed his brother’s hand a little tighter against the cold. He didn’t know what hard years lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain: the world might try to pull them apart, but he would never let go.