handbag still occupied part of her space.
Her coat was still beside her.
Her shoes had been removed as though she had expected to spend the flight entirely undisturbed.
But the comfort she had defended so aggressively was gone.
Emma stood beside the row with both feet planted in the aisle, still holding the object carefully while the flight attendant examined it.
I could see my daughter’s face clearly for a second between the headrests.
She wasn’t smiling.
She looked serious, almost concerned.
That was when I understood something about what had just happened.
Emma had never wanted a confrontation.
Even after the woman insulted me, blamed my children, and took the space we had paid for, Emma’s first instinct had been to protect a stranger from embarrassment.
She had noticed something trapped beneath the woman’s leg and quietly tried to tell her.
The woman had chosen not to listen.
