“Then move over.”
“There’s nowhere to move.”
He smirked. I watched it happen, and my stomach tightened.
“Then stand.”
I lowered my book.
The young woman stared at the floor, jaw tight, and I felt ashamed of how long I’d spent hoping someone else would say something.
Two stops later, she got off, the toddler’s sock dangling from her hand.
A tiny elderly woman with a cane took the seat.
She wore a mustard-yellow coat and a hat with a small brass pin.
She kept one hand on her cane while she lowered herself, feeling for the seat with the other.
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