a few minutes I actually believed all that planning had worked.
Then we reached row
eleven.
A woman was already sitting in Emma’s assigned seat.
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Her coat was spread across the seat beside her as though she had claimed the entire little area for herself.
An oversized handbag blocked part of the aisle, forcing people behind us to stop while I tried to figure out what was happening.
She had even taken off her shoes, with one bare foot tucked beneath the window.
For a second, I assumed there had been a simple mistake.
Airplane seating confusion happens, and I had no interest in starting an argument while standing in a packed aisle with a newborn strapped to me.
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So I kept my voice polite.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I believe you’re sitting in one of our seats.”
