“You’ll figure it out.”
He tried to hire a travel nanny. The agency sent someone excellent on paper. She called in sick the morning of departure with food poisoning. There was no time to replace her.
So Andrew boarded a transatlantic flight with a six-month-old daughter, no practical childcare experience, and a calendar full of meetings that could affect thousands of employees.
For the first hour, he thought perhaps it might be manageable. Lily slept in the first-class bassinet while he reviewed legal summaries and financial forecasts. He had even allowed himself a small, private moment of smug relief. Maybe Claire had been right.
Then Lily woke up screaming.
He offered the bottle Claire had prepared. Lily arched away from it, sobbing harder. He changed her diaper in the cramped airplane bathroom, sweating and clumsy and strangely ashamed of how hard something so basic felt. He walked the aisles, bounced her, shushed her, tried white noise, soft singing, firm pats, gentle rocking. Nothing worked.
As the hours dragged on, the mood in the cabin curdled.