The rest of the flight passed in a peaceful quiet.

Patricia did not put her headphones back on.

She sat with the wallet resting on her lap, one hand on it, the whole way, as though she needed to feel its weight to keep believing she had not lost it.

When we landed in Orlando, Maya came back to help me before I could even ask — grabbed the diaper bag, waited patiently for the aisle to clear, positioned herself to walk beside me toward the front.

And as we came even with Row 14, Patricia stood up.

“Maya,” she said, gently.