My flight to Los Angeles was supposed to be uneventful, but what unfolded during those two hours changed everything I thought I knew about my life and my family.
As an architect preparing to present a major project to investors, this trip meant everything to me—not just professionally but also personally. My mother, Melissa, a single parent who raised me after my father’s death, had always been my biggest cheerleader. When I told her about the meeting, she hugged me and said, “Go make us proud.”
The flight started smoothly, with kind attendants and an empty seat beside me. But when Bethany, a flight attendant, noticed the birthmark on my wrist, things took a surprising turn. She asked to see my passport, then later returned to tell me the pilot wanted to meet me after we landed.
Confused but curious, I stayed back after the passengers disembarked. The pilot, a man with graying hair, approached me, his face filled with emotion. My breath caught—it was Steve, my mom’s childhood friend, someone I’d only seen in old photos.
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