I was lost in my audiobook, barely noticing the turbulence, trying to ignore the sighs of the man next to me. That’s when I felt a soft tug on my sleeve. Looking down, I saw a little boy—maybe three or four years old—with red eyes and a hopeful expression. He stood across the aisle, silently asking for comfort.
Before I could speak, he climbed onto my lap and snuggled in like he belonged there. I was stunned. The flight attendant gave a warm smile as she passed, but no one said a word. I looked around, expecting a parent to appear, but the cabin stayed quiet except for the hum of the engines and the soft breathing of the child now resting in my arms.
I held him through the entire flight.
When we landed, I turned to a woman nearby and asked, “Do you know where his parents are?”
She blinked. “I thought you were his mom.”
A chill ran through me.
As I stood with the boy still tucked against my side, he stirred and asked in a sleepy voice, “Are we there yet?”
“We are,” I whispered. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
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