It was supposed to be an ordinary flight — one of those quiet stretches between a long week and the comfort of home. I boarded, found my seat, and exhaled, already craving rest. Without thinking, I pressed the button to recline, eager to relax for a few hours before landing.
A few seconds later, a soft voice came from behind me.
“Excuse me,” the woman said gently, “I’m sorry, but I’m having a little trouble breathing.”
But I was tired. Irritated. I barely turned my head before replying, “It’s a short flight. I’m just trying to rest.”
The words came out sharper than I meant. She said nothing else. When I glanced sideways, I saw her — a young woman, visibly pregnant, one hand resting protectively over her belly. Her eyes looked weary, but she didn’t complain. She simply adjusted herself, quietly enduring the discomfort.
The moment passed, but a weight settled over me.
