Thirty-one of those cases ended with the original crew decision confirmed. Twelve were modified after review. Three involved passengers who would otherwise have been removed from aircraft. Marcus considered those three the most important number in the dashboard.
Kesha hated that he had, in fact, built a dashboard for dignity.
"You turned human decency into metrics," she told him.
"I run an airline."
"You're impossible."
"The numbers help."
"I know. That's why it's annoying."
They laughed. For the first time since Nashville, the subject did not hurt. The public phase of the story changed more slowly.
For months, Kesha could not enter an airport without seeing someone recognize her. Some smiled. Some whispered. Some asked for photographs while she was changing Zoe's diaper. One man followed her through a terminal in Chicago filming until airport staff intervened.
Being publicly defended turned out to be another form of being publicly watched. Kesha had spent the morning of Flight 847 wishing someone would see her as a person. Now millions of people believed they knew her. The contradiction exhausted her.
She stopped reading comments entirely. Marcus tried once to show her a video praising her composure. She pushed his phone away.
"I don't want to see myself getting hit again."
He locked the screen immediately.
"Sorry."
"I know people mean well."
"Still sorry."
At home, the incident appeared in small, unexpected ways. Kesha flinched the first time a flight attendant reached quickly across her seat to collect a cup. She hated herself for it. Then hated herself for hating herself.
Her therapist called that predictable.
"Your body doesn't care how many policies changed," Dr. Amelia Grant told her. "It remembers proximity, uniform, cabin, surprise."
Kesha sat on the edge of a sofa in the therapist's office.
"I feel ridiculous."
"Why?"
"Because the injury was minor."
"Your nervous system does not measure trauma by swelling."
Kesha looked away.
"I was holding Zoe."
"Yes."
"That's the part."
"Then let's talk about that part."
For weeks, Kesha had described the slap as something that happened to her. In therapy, she admitted what actually frightened her. The split second after impact when Zoe screamed. The possibility that Kesha might drop her.
The fear that security would grab her arms while she was holding the baby. The image, invented afterward but impossible to stop, of Zoe falling between the seats. None of it happened. Her body reacted as though it almost had.
Marcus attended one session at Kesha's request. He admitted his own private fear.
"When she said Sandra hit her, I wanted to destroy every person involved."
Dr. Grant looked at him.
"Did you?"
"No."
"Why?"