children get when they think they are responsible for making an adult’s life harder.
Then she looked up at me.
“It’s okay, Mom,” she whispered. “I can stay here.”
Every instinct in me said no.
Emma was ten, not an adult traveler who could simply shrug off being seated beside someone who had already spoken to her mother with open hostility.
I hated the idea of walking away.
But the flight attendant promised again that she would keep checking on Emma, and I could see passengers waiting all the way down the aisle.
Finally, I agreed.
I helped Emma settle into the seat.
As she lowered herself beside the woman, she suddenly paused.
Her eyes moved downward.
Something was trapped beneath the woman’s leg.
Emma’s expression changed immediately.
It wasn’t the face she made when she was annoyed.
It was the look she got when she had noticed something important
