He stood and moved down the aisle. I stared straight ahead, breathing through my nose slowly, like my therapist had taught me.
Not all alarms mean danger.
But some do.
Sam returned with a flight attendant, a woman with kind eyes who crouched beside my seat to hear me better over the noise.
“I have severe nut allergies,” I said, voice steady even though my hands weren’t. “I’m not asking anyone to get in trouble. I just need distance.”
The flight attendant nodded. “We can move you,” she said immediately. “Let me see what’s available.”
Within minutes, we were relocated to seats near the front where there were fewer people and less food. The flight attendant announced that due to a medical concern, they would not be serving nuts on the flight.
The man behind us looked annoyed, but he didn’t say anything. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel the need to apologize for existing.
In Seattle, we checked into a hotel with a small kitchenette. Sam had specifically booked it that way.
“We can cook,” he said. “Or we can eat out at places you approve. No pressure.”