Priya turned to the man and said, "Sir, we have one middle seat open in row 31. I can offer you that seat. It is between two children, ages three and five, traveling with their mother. Is that acceptable to you?" He said, "Fine." He walked back. He sat down in 31E, between a three-year-old and a five-year-old. Both of whom, I would be told later by the mother, who became friends with the woman in 14D over the course of the flight, were in full meltdown within forty minutes. He got, for the rest of the flight, a crying three-year-old to his left, a kicking five-year-old to his right, and the silent treatment from his own arms

across his chest. The woman in 14D had, by that point, stopped crying. She had put her book down. The older flight attendant — the one who had whispered to Priya — brought her a small bottle of champagne from first class. "Compliments of the airline," the attendant said. She also brought her a warm hand towel. She squeezed her shoulder. I watched all of this from 14C. The woman in 14D finally, for the first time since the incident began, looked across the aisle at me. She mouthed "thank you." I mouthed back, "I'm sorry."