His hand rested on the seat.
His other hand brushed hair away from her face.
“You’ll feel better once we start moving,” he told her.
“Just relax.”
Maya noticed me first.
Her expression changed.
“Claire.”
Ethan turned.
He sighed.
Not with relief.
Not concern.
Annoyance.
“Finally.”
I stared at him.
“Maya got sick while we were waiting.”
“Take her seat in the back.”
For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
“What?”
He pointed down the aisle.
“Her seat.”
“It’s several rows back.”
“Yes.”
“Beside a family with a toddler.”
He frowned.
“So?”
I looked at Maya.
Then back at him.
“You know why I booked the window.”
His jaw tightened.
“Claire.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Not helpless.”
“Maya is actually sick.”
Actually sick.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Maybe because he had watched me vomit at six that morning.
Maybe because he had held the bathroom door while I rinsed my face.
Maybe because he had complained the entire drive about how pregnancy was making our schedule complicated.
Maya started removing his blazer.
“I can move.”
Ethan put his hand on her shoulder.
“No.”
“Stay where you are.”
Then he looked at me.
“Go sit down.”
I felt something inside me become very still.
“Give me my seat back.”
His expression hardened.
“Don’t embarrass me in front of my team.”
“You’re a Senior Director.”
“Act like one.”
That was when everything changed.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
Like a thread snapping somewhere deep inside me.
This was not about a seat.
It never had been.
