“Mom,” Lily whispered, “isn’t that our row?”
“Yes. Let me handle it.”
The line of passengers stacked up.
I checked the numbers above us just to be sure. Twelve A and twelve B, both circled on the passes in Lily’s hand. My stomach tightened, but I told myself it was probably a simple mistake, the kind you sort out with a smile and a boarding pass.
I tightened my grip on Noah, felt Lily press against my hip, and stepped forward.
The woman didn’t look up.
Behind me, the line of passengers stacked up, and every eye was already turning toward row 12.
“Excuse me,” I said again, softer this time. “Those are our seats. My daughter has the window.”
“That isn’t my problem.”
The woman in row 12 didn’t even lift her eyes.
“I heard you the first time.”
I held out our boarding passes so she could see them clearly.
