I helped Maya into the window seat — the seat I had chosen for myself, weeks ago, imagining I would sit in it with Leo warm against me and my daughter beside me and the three of us safe together in our little planned row.

She stowed her purple backpack under the seat in front of her, and as she bent down to push it into place, I saw her brow furrow.

She had noticed something.

Something down near the woman’s seat, tucked in against the frame.

I did not see what it was.

But I saw her see it.