was uncomfortable.
I could tell from the way she held herself and from how carefully she kept her body contained on her side of the seat.
The woman beside her looked perfectly comfortable.
She had gotten exactly what she wanted.
She had kept the seat.
She had kept the extra space.
And she had managed to make me feel as though I had caused the entire problem simply by showing up with my children.
As the plane prepared for takeoff, I kept reminding myself that Emma was only a few rows ahead.
The flight attendant knew where she was.
I could see her occasionally.
The flight would move forward, and eventually this unpleasant beginning would become nothing more than a story about a difficult passenger.
At least, that was what I told myself.
The plane took off.
Oliver stayed surprisingly calm against me.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, my
attention remained fixed on row eleven.
Whenever I caught a glimpse of Emma, she seemed to be looking down toward the same area beside the woman where she had noticed something before takeoff.
I remembered the unfinished sentence.
“Ma’am, I think you might be sitting on—”
At the time, I had assumed it was something ordinary.
Maybe something from the woman’s own belongings had slipped beneath her.
Maybe Emma had noticed part of her coat or something from the seat area.
Whatever it was, the woman clearly hadn’t wanted to hear about it.
About ten minutes after takeoff, the seatbelt sign switched off.
The cabin changed almost immediately as people relaxed, shifted in their seats, and began reaching for whatever they had been waiting to use once they were allowed to move again.
The woman in row eleven stretched both legs into the extra space Emma and I had paid
