Amara, a sixteen-year-old stranger, had understood his child in five minutes.
Andrew hated how grateful he felt.
He also hated how deeply it hurt.
A passenger in seat 1B leaned toward the aisle.
“Excuse me,” she whispered.
“Is the baby finally asleep?”
Andrew glanced at her.
The woman’s tone wasn’t kind.
It carried relief mixed with irritation.
Amara heard it too.
She shifted Lily slightly closer to her chest.
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
“Yes,” he said coldly.
The woman sat back quickly.
One of the flight attendants approached with a blanket.
“Would she like to sit in the jump seat, Mr. Carter?”
Andrew looked at Amara.
“You can sit here.”
Amara’s eyes widened.
“In first class?”
“Yes.”
“I should go back.”
“No,” Andrew said, perhaps too quickly.
Then softer:
“Please. Stay until Lily is fully settled.”
Amara looked toward the curtain separating cabins.
“My seat is back there.”
“I’ll speak to the crew.”
She hesitated.
Not because she wanted luxury.
Because people like Amara learned that accepting anything from powerful people usually came with invisible strings.
Andrew recognized that hesitation.
He had seen it in negotiation rooms.
He had caused it, sometimes.
