Now pasta sauce covered the front.
Across the aisle, a woman inhaled sharply.
Someone behind Maya whispered, “Oh my God.”
Two rows back, a passenger raised a phone.
Then another.
The blonde flight attendant remained standing beside Maya’s seat with the empty container in one hand.
Her name badge read JESSICA HALE.
She was in her late thirties, immaculate in a navy uniform, white blouse, burgundy scarf, hair pulled into a tight polished bun.
Her expression contained concern.
Technically.
But there was something underneath it Maya disliked immediately.
Not embarrassment.
Not the reflexive horror of someone who had accidentally spilled food on a passenger holding a baby.
Annoyance.
Jessica looked at the stained gown, then at Maya.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Here are your leftovers, I suppose.”
Several passengers stared.
Maya’s eyes lifted slowly.
“What did you say?”
Jessica’s smile appeared.
Thin.
Professional.
False.
“I said I’m sorry. The container slipped.”
That was not what she had said.
A woman in Row 4B had already started recording.
Her phone was held vertically against the seatback.
Maya noticed the red livestream indicator.
Jessica noticed it too.
Her smile widened.
“Let me help you clean that.”
Before Maya could answer, Jessica pressed a wad of napkins against the stain.
Hard.
The motion spread the sauce across the fabric.
Maya flinched.
“Please stop.”
Jessica continued wiping.
“You don’t want this setting.”
“I said stop.”
Jessica’s hand froze.
Maya’s voice had not risen.
That seemed to irritate the flight attendant more than shouting would have.
Amara shifted against Maya’s chest.
Maya looked down, kissed the baby’s forehead, and murmured, “You’re okay.”
Then she looked up again.
Jessica was still holding the napkins.
Maya said quietly, “Thank you. I can handle it.”