And the respect that depends on power is not respect.
It's fear.
When we landed in New York, Margaret hugged me.
Thank you for helping me during the flight, Doctor.
It was a pleasure.
I saw her walking towards the exit.
A young man was waiting for her to hold a baby.
Margaret started crying before she even reached them.
I smiled.
My phone vibrated.
It was a message from Ethan.
“Review tomorrow at 8. Don’t be late.”
I replied:
“I can cancel it.”
Three points appeared immediately.
“It was a joke. You can arrive whenever you want.”
I let go of a laugh.
I kept the phone.
And I kept walking.
A year earlier I had been thrown from an airport like garbage.
They believed they could decide who deserved respect based on the clothes he was wearing, the seat he had bought, or the last name that appeared on a card.
