The baby had been crying for nearly twenty minutes. Not the occasional fuss or tired whimper, but the kind of deep, panicked crying that fills a space and refuses to be ignored. The kind that makes people shift in their seats, sigh a little louder than necessary, glance at each other like they’re silently asking, “How much longer is this going to last?”
I was three rows behind them, close enough to see the mother’s shoulders tighten every time the sound peaked. She looked young—too young to already have that exhausted, apologetic expression etched into her face. One hand gently bounced the toddler on her lap while the other tried to wipe away her own tears before anyone noticed.
