Only a few minutes into the flight, Xavier stirred awake, rubbing his eyes slowly with small fists. “Are we on the plane now, Mom? Dad?”

Rafayel reached over, his hand gently smoothing down our son's sleep-tousled hair. “Yes, we are, sweetheart. We're already several miles from Boston.”

A wide, sleepy grin spread across Xavier's face.

“Yay!” he whispered, the sound full of wonder as he peered out the window at the endless expanse of clouds below.

A slow, knowing smile touched Rafayel's lips as he watched our son. “You can't wait to see the art gallery, can you?”

I bit my lower lip, the realization dawning on me. In all...