Two hours pass as the elderly lady, Abigail, remains transfixed on the family in front of us. The deep brown eyes mainly focus on the back of Mila's head. Every move or wiggle in the seat, Abigail's fingers strum against her lap. The rest of her barely moves, except for once when she squats to set her purse next to our feet.
By the tenth hour, my nerves are unraveling. Mila has bumped her seat many times into my knees. Her brother finally convinced his mom to get his game back, and she has been out cold asleep for a couple of hours.
Once again, Mila bumps my knee with the back of the seat. With all intentions of saying something to the little brat, I grab the headrest with both hands. Mila whips her head around and wrinkles her nose at me. I gasp when I see her eyes shift to pitch blac
