It was the perfect moment to lean back, exhale, and enjoy the ride. Instead, Daniel sat there, stiff as a board, waiting for the next strike. He didn’t have to wait long. Kick. Kick. Thud. This one rattled his coffee cup on the tray table. He ran a hand down his face.
The worst part was how passive it all felt. He wasn’t a confrontational person. He never had been. Daniel believed in courtesy. Boundaries. Talking things out. But now he found himself trapped in a situation where his comfort depended entirely on the behavior of a small child and the awareness of a woman who had no interest in sharing a reality with him.
He’d already tried the polite route. He could try again. But what if the mother took offense? What if she claimed he was picking on her son? People got defensive fast these days. He didn’t want to be the guy who sparked a headline-worthy incident over a child’s feet.
Still, how many kicks was he supposed to absorb before he was allowed to be angry? He stared at the seat in front of him, unblinking. Then came another kick. And another. His limit was getting closer. It wasn’t just the seat-kicking. It was the buildup of everything else.