“Oh,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “He’s just a kid. He gets fidgety on long rides.” Daniel nodded once, controlling his breath. “I understand. But this is the quiet car. And the kicking hasn’t stopped.” She gave a tight, patronizing smile. “He’ll calm down eventually. He always does.”
Something slipped loose in Daniel’s chest—like a frayed cord finally snapping. “I’d prefer he calmed down now,” he said, his voice firmer, quieter, but with a bite he couldn’t soften. The mother raised her eyebrows theatrically, then chuckled—actually chuckled—and shook her head.