My baby, usually calm and quiet, was irritated that day — maybe because of the pressure, the noise, or simply tiredness. He cried often, couldn’t sleep, and I held on with all my strength not to cry along with him.

When the flight attendant brought the meal, I couldn’t even think about eating properly. The baby was in my arms the whole time — feeding, diaper changes, attempts to soothe him to sleep.

This is my routine. I’m not complaining. But this time, a man in a suit sat next to me — it was clear he was traveling on important business. He looked tired, irritated, sighed heavily, gave us sideways glances, and muttered to himself. I felt worse and worse. I couldn’t even look at him without feeling guilty. I knew he was barely holding back from yelling at me.

I held