I squeezed her hand and forced a small smile. “No, sweetheart,” I told her softly. “We didn’t.”
The plane doors closed and we began taxiing. The whispers didn’t stop. A man across the aisle shook his head while scrolling on his phone. Someone muttered something about “people gaming the system.” I stayed quiet. Lily leaned against my shoulder, pretending to look out the window, though I could see her blinking quickly to hold back tears.
Ten minutes into the flight, the same flight attendant returned, this time with a supervisor. The supervisor looked at the passes again and nodded. “Everything appears to be in order,” she said. But the woman across the aisle wasn’t satisfied. “Then why does this look suspicious?” she demanded, pointing at us like we were evidence in a courtroom.
The supervisor apologized politely and walked away, but the damage had already been done. Lily sat smaller in her seat, trying not to draw attention. I glanced at my watch and quietly checked my phone. There were three messages waiting. I replied with two words.
“Board now.”
Fifteen minutes later, the aircraft made an unexpected announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said over the intercom, “we will briefly reopen the aircraft door due to an operational matter.” Confused murmurs filled the cabin. The plane rolled back toward the gate.
Then the door opened again.
