For the next few moments, there was blissful quiet. And then—another kick. Solid. Right in the center of his back. Daniel flinched. It wasn’t just the impact—it was the certainty that came with it. The boy had understood him. He wasn’t too young. He wasn’t confused. He just didn’t care.
And the mother? She still hadn’t looked up. Daniel turned again, this time addressing her directly. “Excuse me,” he said, keeping his voice low and measured. “I’ve asked your son twice now to stop kicking my seat. Could you please ask him to stop?” The mother blinked at him like she’d been interrupted from a dream.