I was standing behind the security glass at the airport, watching my husband’s carry-on travel down the belt toward the scanner. Mark was ahead of me in the line, shoes off, phone in the tray, doing everything right.
He looked tense, the way he always did before these trips. He had no idea what was inside that bag as the carry-on passed through the scanner.
He looked tense, the way he always did before these trips.
The officer on the other side leaned toward his screen, then looked up. He said something to the woman beside him. She came over. They both looked at the screen again.
“Sir, we’re going to need to open this,” the officer told Mark.