Don’t cry, Eileen. Don’t you dare. She bit the meaty back of her tongue between two molars and forced her mind to not think, no, not one single thought, about every shitastic thing that had happened in the last six hours to completely upend her whole life.

“Hello,” the man greeted her with a large, white-toothed smile. He sized her up for a split second and then asked, “Can I help you?” His face suddenly morphing into an expression of extreme concern.

Eileen nodded. “I…um.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t find my seat.” Her voice came out a whisper.

His brow furrowed as he cocked his head. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She licked her lips. Don’t cry. “I…I can’t.” Helpless, she looked up into his now very concerned face. Eileen shook her head. She could feel herself losing control right before the tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She swiped them away with her one free hand, sending her tote again sliding off her shoulder and down her arm to her elbow.

The flight attendant’s hands pulled away from the bins and reached to take her bag from her. “It’s okay,” he said as he motioned with his hand, follow me.

She stumbled after him, farther back into the galley, so the passengers right behind her could make it to their seats in the last row. He placed her tote on the floor next to the jump seat. “How can I help?”

A weird sound, like a horn, echoed out of Eileen’s strained throat. Embarrassed, she hoped he hadn’t heard it. “My seat,” she managed to say, “I can’t find it.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice reassuring. He smiled at her. “I think we can get that figured out for sure. My name is Chris.”

Eileen’s lips pressed hard into a straight line as she looked at him, so grateful. She nodded. “I’m Eileen. Thank you, Chris. I’m not normally… It’s just been a really hard day.”

Chris sighed. “I’m sorry about your day. It looks like it was maybe a whopper.”

Eileen nodded and resisted the urge to pull the envelope and book from her bag and launch into an explanation—see this, this is my sister, she’s dead. And these, these pictures are of my husband, and fucking Lauren Andrews, the bitch. Instead, she said, “My worst day, yes.”

Chris nodded. “Well, let’s at least help you find your seat. Do you have your boarding pass?”