I hesitated.
Then I remembered the words.
Standards really have changed.
I repeated them.
Denise wrote them down.
And for the first time, I began to understand that the investigation wasn't merely about Victoria's behavior inside the cabin.
It was also about what happened before I boarded.
The part I hadn't been allowed to see.
The airline's internal review lasted longer than I expected.
That evening, my mother and I traveled to Atlanta on a later flight. I wore the same Howard sweatshirt, although I had changed my shirt underneath and washed my face at the airport. When we entered the second aircraft, I felt my stomach tighten so suddenly that I almost stopped walking.
Nothing bad happened.
The flight attendant welcomed us, checked our tickets, and showed us to our seats. The passengers around us were occupied with their own conversations, phones, and carry-on bags. Nobody questioned why I was there.
But I kept watching the aisle.
Every time someone stood near our row, I felt myself become tense.
My mother noticed.
She leaned toward me.
"Want to hold my hand?"
I almost laughed.
"Mom, I'm eighteen."
She smiled faintly.
"I know."
I looked toward the window.
Then I reached for her hand.
She didn't say anything.
For the rest of the flight, we sat quietly together.
By the time we landed, I was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with travel.
My body had spent hours waiting for something terrible to happen again.
We stayed at a hotel near the conference center.
My mother ordered dinner from the restaurant downstairs because I didn't want to sit among strangers. I took a long shower, changed into comfortable clothes, and tried to concentrate on the presentation I was supposed to deliver the next morning.
It was impossible.
Every time I looked at my notes, I remembered Victoria's voice.
First Class costs more than your entire wardrobe.
I remembered the perfume.
I remembered her smiling after she spat on me.
And I remembered the red notification on the captain's tablet.
I opened my laptop.
My presentation appeared on the screen.
I stared at the title.
The Cost of Being Doubted.