While flying from Antalya to Tbilisi, the capital city of Georgia, I found myself rewatching one of my airplane comfort movies—A Haunting in Venice, Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of an Agatha Christie murder mystery, where Branagh, as always, plays the legendary detective Hercule Poirot.

Haunting in Venice isn’t my favorite installment in the series. And it wasn’t really the plot that struck me this time—but a quiet, final scene near the end. One that echoed something personal and recent in my own life.