A strange noise from the bathroom during a flight leaves flight attendant Leslie feeling scared. Unbeknownst to her, the child inside will change her life forever.
Leslie felt a headache from a night of partying as she headed to her plane. When she spotted her colleague Amy, she asked for headache pills. Amy rolled her eyes, reminding Leslie that partying before a long flight was unwise. Leslie sighed, thinking that partying was a better distraction than visiting museums.
As they prepared for the passengers, Leslie took her pills, hoping to rest in the crew quarters. However, a peculiar sound caught her attention. She hesitated, then dismissed it as her imagination. But when she heard a high-pitched cry, she realized it was a child. When Amy knocked on the bathroom door without a response, she opened it and screamed. Inside was a young boy named Ben, who looked up at Leslie with tears in his eyes.
Leslie crouched down to talk to him and learned that he was lost and afraid. He was clutching a bag and sobbing about his grandmother’s medicine, saying it was his fault if she didn’t get it. Ben explained that he had gotten separated from his family at the airport and accidentally boarded the wrong plane.
Leslie felt a surge of compassion for the boy and decided to help him. She alerted the authorities upon landing in Los Angeles, but was shocked when she found out she had to stay with Ben instead of going out. Her plans to explore L.A. were put on hold as she took care of him.
As they shared pizza for dinner, Leslie received a call from her mother. Her son, Joe, was sick, and they had to see a specialist. Hearing this news crushed her, filling her with worry and guilt for not being there.
Ben approached her, offering her the bag of medicine, saying he wanted to help Joe. Overwhelmed by his kindness, Leslie resolved to get Ben to his grandmother in Seattle and then return home to Joe. She booked a ticket for Ben at her own expense and prepared to fly with him.
On the flight to Seattle, Ben expressed his fears that he might have harmed his grandmother. Leslie reassured him that his mother loved him and would be happy to see him safe. When they arrived, Ben’s family greeted him with hugs and relief. In contrast, Leslie’s reunion with Joe was heartbreaking. He looked frail, and she felt helpless. Despite her exhaustion, she vowed to do everything possible to help him.
Days passed, and Joe’s condition worsened. The doctors couldn’t find a solution, and Leslie struggled financially, as the airline wouldn’t pay for her time off to care for him. One day, a knock on the door revealed Ben and his family, who handed Leslie an envelope containing a check for over a hundred thousand dollars. They explained that they had started a crowdfunding campaign for Ben’s grandmother’s treatment, but she had passed away. They decided to give Leslie the money for Joe’s care.
Tears filled Leslie’s eyes as she expressed her gratitude, overwhelmed by their generosity. Ben promised to return one day to play with Joe. Eventually, Joe recovered and returned to his playful self, all thanks to Ben’s family. As Leslie watched him outside, she realized how far they had come.
Before returning to work, she contacted Ben’s family to offer them lifetime flight discounts as a token of her appreciation for their kindness. The story illustrates that children need attention and love, as Ben acted out in his desperation for his mother’s affection. It also shows that avoiding emotional pain through distractions isn’t a solution; finding healthier ways to cope is essential.
My Stepmom Gifted Me a Funerary Urn for My 17th Birthday
I always knew my stepmom, Monica, wasn’t exactly the nicest person—annoying, yes, but not evil. She was the type who would talk over me, forget my birthday, and call me “kiddo” even though I was practically an adult.
But what she did on my 17th birthday? It was the final straw.
It all started after my mom, Sarah, passed away when I was ten. After that, it was just me and Dad. We were a team—movie nights, pizza dinners, and a mutual understanding that we had each other’s backs, always.
Then Monica came along about three years ago. She wasn’t the worst, just kind of… there. She moved in, slowly took over the bathroom with her endless beauty products, and managed to inch her way into Dad’s life, whether I liked it or not.
Monica had dreams—big dreams—of opening a hair salon. I didn’t have a problem with people having dreams, but I had my own, too, and she treated me like I was an inconvenience that came with the house.
But I had a plan. College was my way out, and Dad had promised me from the time I was little that there was a college fund waiting for me. “Your mom and I set it up when you were five, Lila,” he’d say. “It’s all there, and I add to it every year.”
So, I worked hard in school, counting down the days until I could leave for college and start a life of my own.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe some pancakes, a card—Dad was at work, so it was just Monica and me. But when Monica handed me a gift bag, things took a weird turn.
Inside the bag was a pink funerary urn. Yes, you read that right. An urn.
I stared at it, completely confused. “What the hell is this?” I asked.
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, a smug look on her face. “It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?” I asked, already feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Monica smiled wider. “It’s time to bury your college dreams, kiddo. Your dad and I decided to put that fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I repeated, my heart racing.
“Yep. We used it to help me open my salon. College is a gamble, Lila. But a business? That’s a real investment.”
I was frozen. Had they really taken my future, my college fund, and sunk it into Monica’s dream? How could my dad have let this happen?
“Life’s full of disappointments,” she added, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
I ran upstairs and slammed my door, sobbing harder than I ever had. Everything I’d worked for, everything my mom had wanted for me, was gone.
For the next few days, I barely spoke to either of them. Monica pranced around like she owned the house while I sat with the urn on my desk, a twisted reminder of what I had lost.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk in Monica’s messy handwriting: Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me.
I almost laughed. Trust her? After what she did?
But my curiosity got the better of me, and against my better judgment, I went.
When I arrived at the salon, the lights were off, but the door was unlocked. Hesitant, I stepped inside. There, in the middle of the room, were Monica and my dad, both grinning.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted.
I was speechless.
“Look,” Monica said, stepping aside to reveal a shiny new sign on the wall: Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah.
“What is this?” I asked, completely lost.
Monica’s smile softened. “We didn’t use your college fund, Lila. It’s all still there. The salon isn’t just for me—it’s for you, too. And for others like you. A portion of the profits will go toward funding scholarships in your mom’s name.”
I blinked, feeling like the ground was shifting beneath my feet.
“But… why make me think otherwise?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around it.
Monica winced. “Yeah, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it would be motivational, like burying the past and embracing the future. Turns out, it was just creepy.”
Dad stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve been planning this for months. Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This way, her dream lives on.”
I stood there, stunned, my anger melting into something softer.
Monica looked at me earnestly. “I’m not trying to replace your mom, Lila. I just want to build something meaningful, something that helps you and others. I know I haven’t been the best stepmom, but I hope this can be a fresh start.”
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, and maybe things with Monica never would be. But in that moment, standing in a salon named for my mom, I realized she wasn’t trying to destroy my future—she was trying to honor it in a way I hadn’t expected.
And yeah, I kept the urn. I planted peace lilies in it. Maybe it wasn’t the symbol Monica had intended, but it had become something new. A symbol of hope.
What would you have done in my shoes?
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