When they announced early boarding, I stood and joined the queue.
That’s when I saw her.
Amelia Westbrook.
Amelia was my ex-husband’s sister-in-law, a family connection so distant it should have included automatic emotional insulation. But Amelia had never treated it as distant. She’d treated it as an ongoing competition, one she maintained through small, precise cuts. She was the type of woman who wore lip gloss to funerals, who smiled while delivering cruelty because she enjoyed the sensation of being simultaneously polished and vicious.
I hadn’t seen her in years. I hadn’t known she’d become a lead flight attendant.
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