Maybe the kid was just restless. Maybe he’d settle down once the scenery got more interesting—fields, towns, the glittering edges of the Connecticut River. Kids liked trains, right? He’d be fine. Daniel would be fine.
But his body told a different story. His shoulders, which had finally started to relax, were tensing up again. His jaw tightened. The muscles in his lower back twitched with each impact. His hands, resting quietly on his thighs just moments ago, curled into frustrated fists.
It wasn’t just the kicking. It was what it represented. This was supposed to be his time. His reward for surviving the brutal client meetings, the awful hotel mattress, the takeout dinners in paper boxes that smelled like printer toner.
He had carved out this pocket of peace for himself. He had paid for it—literally. And now… this. A six-year-old with rocket feet and a mother who couldn’t be bothered to look up. He shifted in his seat and stole another glance back.