The woman sitting in my seat didn't look remotely sorry.
I checked my boarding pass one more time before looking at her.
“Excuse me. I believe that's my seat.”
She glanced at the number on my ticket and then back at me.
“I'd rather sit here,” she said casually. “There are plenty of other seats.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“I specifically reserved this seat.”
She sighed as though I were the one causing the inconvenience.
“It's just a seat. You can sit somewhere else.”
A few people nearby had begun watching us.
I was about to call a flight attendant when I heard my husband's voice behind me.
“What's happening?”
I turned around.
He wasn't looking at me.
His eyes were fixed on the woman.
And the moment she saw him, her entire expression changed.
“What are you doing here?” my husband asked.
The woman gave him a strange smile.
“That's an interesting question.”
I stared at both of them.
“You know each other?”
My husband paused.
“We used to work together.”
The woman laughed quietly.
“That's the story you're going with?”
My stomach tightened.
I looked at my husband.
“What is she talking about?”
“It's complicated,” he said.
I hated those two words.
“Then explain it.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“We'll discuss this later.”
“No,” I said. “We're discussing it now.”
Instead of answering me, he turned toward the woman.
“Why are you on this flight?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.
“Because someone invited me.”
“Who?”
She unlocked the screen and opened a message thread.
My husband leaned forward.
The moment he saw the name at the top of the conversation, his face changed.
“Those messages weren't from me.”
“I know,” the woman replied.
Then she turned the phone toward me.
I saw the name.
My daughter.
For a few seconds, I couldn't speak.
“Why is my daughter messaging you?”
The woman handed me the phone.
I started reading.
There were dozens of messages.
Some were about the trip.
Others were about meeting once we arrived.
Then I saw one sentence that made my heart sink.
“Please don't tell my dad that I contacted you.”
I looked up at my husband.
“Why would she ask you not to tell him?”
He didn't answer.
That silence told me more than words could have.
The woman reached for her phone.
“That's enough. Give it back.”
I stepped away.
“No.”
“That's my phone.”
I didn't know who to trust anymore.
So I hurried toward the nearest restroom and locked the door behind me.
Outside, I could hear the woman asking for her phone.
Then I heard my husband trying to calm her down.
I ignored them.
I kept reading.
The messages revealed that my daughter had been trying to arrange a meeting.
But with whom?
And why had she gone to this woman?
I scrolled farther.
Then I reached a message from my daughter that made everything feel even stranger.
“My mom still doesn't know what really happened. I need you to tell her the truth.”
I stared at those words.
What truth?
What had my husband never told me?
A few minutes later, I opened the door.
The woman was waiting outside.
My husband stood beside her.
I held up the phone.
“I'm done guessing.”
Neither of them spoke.
“Someone is going to explain this to me.”
The woman looked at my husband.
Then she finally began.
Her name was Claire.
She had worked with my husband many years earlier.