The woman beside me on the flight kept staring at her phone.
Every few minutes, she’d type something.
Delete it.
Then stare out the window.
Finally, she whispered:
“Do you think it’s too late to apologize?”
I assumed she meant a boyfriend.
So I said:
“If you’re asking yourself that, probably not.”
She smiled sadly.
“It isn’t my boyfriend.”
She showed me the message on her screen.
It was addressed to her father.
“Dad, I’m sorry I stopped calling.”
Then she locked her phone.
“My father died yesterday.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She continued:
“I was supposed to see him next week.”