He thought he’d scored. But karma had already checked in.

By the time I squeezed into seat 32B, I was sweating through my hoodie, both twins were at war over a sippy cup, and my patience had officially evaporated. Ava dumped apple juice in my lap.

“Perfect,” I muttered, blotting myself with a sour burp cloth.

The man beside me pressed the call button. “Can I be moved? It’s… a bit noisy here.”

I wanted to cry. Instead, I let him escape and silently wished I could crawl into the overhead bin too.

Then my phone buzzed.

Eric.

“Food is amazing up here. They even gave me a warm towel 😍”

I stared at the message, holding a grimy baby wipe to my chest, wondering if the universe took bribes.

Seconds later, another ping—from my father-in-law.