Chapter 2 - MY DAUGHTER DOESN’T MISS THINGS
Emma has her father’s eyes.
Not the color—those came from me.
The habit of noticing what other people missed.
Her father used to say Emma watched the world like she suspected it might try something.
He died two years earlier.
Since then, I had started saying the same thing in my head almost every day.
After takeoff, the seatbelt sign stayed on a little longer than usual because of light chop over Indiana.
Megan tried again.
“Ma’am, this passenger is a minor and that is her assigned seat.”
Susan turned her head just enough to show contempt.
“I’m not arguing with a child on a plane.”
“You already are,” I said.
That finally got her attention.
She looked me up and down, took in the baby carrier, the diaper bag, the cardigan I had already been spit-up on twice, and smiled coldly.
“Then maybe mother of the year should have booked better seats.”
“I did.”
Megan stepped between us before I could say anything else.
“Mrs. Carter, if you’ll give me one moment, I’m going to sort this out.”
Because of Oliver and the cramped aisle, I had to stand half a row back while she tried to resolve it.
Susan used that second of distance like an opportunity.
She trapped Emma against the aisle seat with one knee, dragged her coat partly over the armrest, and put her handbag where Emma’s backpack should have gone.
Emma looked at me over the seatbacks.
Not scared.
Not crying.
Just stiff.
And I knew that posture.
She was angry.
“Emma,” I said, forcing calm because Oliver had started stirring, “don’t let her touch your things.”
Susan smirked.
As if that was impossible now.
Megan finally got her to shift just enough that Emma could sit in the window seat, but not enough for the arrangement to be normal.
I hated leaving it there.
But Oliver needed me to sit before he woke the entire cabin, and Megan promised she would keep watching.
So I ended up one row back at an angle where I could see Emma between the seatbacks.
Emma sat straight.
Hands folded over her backpack.
Watching.
Not the window.
Not the clouds.
May you like
Susan.
And Emma had a way of noticing the thing that made everyone else’s version of reality collapse.
