She lowered her eyes.
“Today, I could barely fit into my airplane seat. My legs are swollen, and sitting for a long time makes them hurt. I know I behaved terribly. But when you asked me to move my foot, I took it as just another insult.”
Linda looked at me.
“I’ve gotten used to being rude first, so other people don’t have the chance to hurt me.”
I remembered the first few months after my husband’s death.
I remembered how I had shut myself inside the house, refused visitors, and sometimes didn’t even answer the phone.
I knew that kind of pain.
But that didn’t mean Linda’s behavior was acceptable.
“Linda, I’m very sorry about your daughter,” I said gently. “But you also need to understand that your pain doesn’t give you the right to treat other people badly.”
She nodded.