Chapter 6 - The Woman Behind the Screen
June’s next message was careful.
She had spoken with Rebecca during the flight while I slept.
Rebecca and Sophie were returning from a trip that had gone badly. There had been an argument with Sophie’s father in Tokyo. Plans had changed. Money had been lost.
June did not offer details she could not verify.
She wrote only what Rebecca had told her.
I don’t say this to excuse her, Adrian. I say it because anger sometimes arrives carrying luggage nobody else can see.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I put down my phone.
Knowing someone had problems did not undo what they had done.
It did complicate the clean, satisfying version I had started telling myself.
At noon, the airline contacted me.
Their preliminary review supported the sequence I had described. The seat changes had been voluntary and approved. The crew had addressed repeated disruption.
They would communicate directly with the passengers involved.
They would not release private passenger information to settle an online argument.
I respected that.
I also wished truth could travel faster without needing someone’s privacy as fuel.
That evening, Rebecca’s original post disappeared.
Screenshots remained.
So did commentary from people who had never been on the aircraft.
Then a new message appeared in my requests.
It was Rebecca.
I need to speak to you. Privately.
I stared at it for a long time.
Hannah read over my shoulder.
“Your choice.”
“What would you do?”
“Set conditions.”
I replied that I would speak by phone, with no recording and no involvement from either family’s children.
Rebecca agreed.
When she called, neither of us knew how to begin.
Finally, she said, “The airline contacted me.”
“They contacted me too.”
“I took the video down.”
“I saw.”
Silence filled the line.
Then she said, “I didn’t expect people to find your family.”
“But you identified my profession and city.”
“I was angry.”
“So was I.”
Her breath caught.
For a moment, I thought she had hung up.
Then she said, “Sophie saw a comment saying I should lose custody.”
I closed my eyes.
“That should never have happened.”
“She thinks everyone hates her.”
“I don’t hate your daughter.”
“She thinks you do.”
I remembered her question on the plane.
Did I kill him?
“No,” I said. “I was upset about what she was doing.”
Rebecca began crying.
Not elegantly.
Not in a way that invited an easy answer.
“I watched her kick your seat,” she said. “I knew she was doing it. I just wanted twenty minutes where nobody needed anything from me.”
“You got two hours.”
“I know.”
The words hung there.
At last, something honest had entered the conversation.
She told me the trip had been an attempt to repair Sophie’s relationship with her father. He had promised time together, then canceled most of it.
On the return flight, Sophie had been angry.
Rebecca had been ashamed.
Her tablet had become a hiding place.
“When you complained,” she said, “it felt like one more person telling me I was failing.”
“I was asking for a still seat.”
“I know that now.”
I leaned back.
“I owe you something too. I smiled because I wanted you embarrassed. I’m sorry for that.”
She was quiet.
Then she said, “That doesn’t make what I posted okay.”
“No.”
“I’ll correct it.”
“Please keep Sophie out of the correction.”
“I will.”
After the call, I remained at the kitchen table.
Hannah placed a cup beside me.
“Well?”
“She apologized.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe she means it tonight.”
It was the most honest answer I had.
Outside, our sons were arguing over a basketball.
May you like
Inside, my phone stayed dark.
For once, that felt like progress.
