At the end of the year, my husband told me every flight from Chicago to Boston was sold out.
“There’s nothing left,” Daniel said, barely looking up from his phone. “We either take the train or miss New Year’s with my family.”
I was seven months pregnant.
My ankles were swollen. My back hurt constantly. Even walking through an airport had become exhausting, and my doctor had specifically warned me to avoid unnecessary physical strain.
Still, Daniel bought the train tickets.
I trusted him.
At least, I thought I did.
It wasn’t until we arrived at the station that I discovered the part of the story he had conveniently left out.
Daniel and his sister, Vanessa, had first-class sleeper accommodations.
I had a coach ticket.
And when I boarded the train, I discovered something even worse.
It was oversold.
There wasn’t a seat for me.
I stood in the aisle, looking at my husband.
“You knew?” I asked.
Daniel shrugged.
Vanessa settled comfortably into her wide leather seat and looked at me as though I were making a fuss over nothing.
