Then the gate agent appeared carrying a tablet.
Behind him stood a man in an expensive navy suit who had arrived late, but apparently “required” our seat.
Required. Not requested.
The agent glanced at my cane, my worn boots, and Lily’s older coat.
We looked like the people least likely to complain.
I held up our boarding passes.
“These are our seats. I paid for them.”
“I understand, sir, but please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Lily tightened her grip on my hand.
Inside my bag were Cora’s ashes, two years of saving, and a promise I had made to a dying woman.
But Lily was watching me.
So I looked down at her and smiled.
“Maybe the seats in the back will be fun. We’ll get to see the whole plane.”
She nodded, but tears were already forming in her eyes.
What hurt was watching my daughter realize that strangers could look at her father and decide he mattered less than someone with more money.
