I refreshed the page, but the system refused to display our actual seat numbers, showing only a message that updated boarding passes would be issued at the gate or could be printed at midnight. The screen seemed to mock me, its cold blue light reflecting in the window glass.
The tea had gone completely cold. I stared at the blinking cursor, wondering if this was the first crack in the wall I had built so carefully.
I closed the laptop lid halfway, then opened it again.
The flight was scheduled to depart at nine fifteen in the morning, leaving us very little time to sort out any complications at the airport.
I reached for my phone and checked the airline’s customer service number, but the automated voice on the line warned of a two-hour wait time.
I hung up and set the phone face down on the desk.
The transition from one aircraft to another seemed minor, but I knew how easily Emma could be thrown off by the slightest change in our environment. I had spent hours explaining the seating chart to her, showing her exactly where seven A was located on the printed diagram.
