My daughter whimpered, exhausted now, her head resting against my collarbone, and something inside me hardened, not into rage, but into clarity.
“I am not leaving,” I said calmly.
Vivian’s smile vanished. “Then you will be escorted off.”
The curtain to the cockpit parted, and Captain Douglas Reynolds stepped into the aisle, all authority and impatience, his eyes skimming me without really seeing me.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
“She’s refusing to comply,” Vivian said. “Aggressive. Disruptive.”
“She assaulted me,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “She slapped me.”
Captain Reynolds didn’t even glance at my cheek. “Ma’am, if my lead attendant says you’re a problem, then you’re a problem. Gather your things.”
Two men in plain clothes appeared at the front of the cabin. Air marshals.
The comments on the live stream began to shift, confusion creeping in, doubt flickering at the edges.
