“Ethan reserved this for me. His handwriting is right there.”
“What’s going on?” He asked, glancing between us.
“Your wife is in my seat,” I said.
He sighed. The same sigh I used to hear over dishes and bills and birthdays.
The sigh that meant he had already decided who was wrong.
“Emily. Come on. We got here first. Just find another spot.”
In that moment, I realized some people never stop choosing the wrong side.
“Your wife is in my seat.”
“Ethan asked me to sit here. He taped my name to the chair.”
“Don’t make this a thing. Not today.”
I looked at Vanessa.
She had picked up her phone again and was scrolling, as if I had already been handled.
I opened my mouth. I had a hundred sentences ready.
And then I thought of Ethan walking across that stage in twenty minutes.
