Carmen and I continue our normal duties, delivering drinks and snacks to the passengers, but one of us always stays near Ben. The clock feels like it’s ticking so slowly. A couple of passengers in the rear rows notice Ben, but we quietly explain it’s a “family situation,” and so far, no one pushes for details.
Eventually, Ben tugs on my sleeve. “Can I open the bag now?” he asks, voice trembling slightly, like he’s both dreading and needing to see what’s inside.
I nod. “Of course, sweetheart. It’s your bag. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
He takes a shaky breath. Carmen and I watch as he slowly peels back the top of the paper bag. Inside, there’s a stuffed animal—a small, well-worn bear missing an eye—and a folded piece of paper. Ben pulls them out carefully, placing the bear in his lap, then opens the paper. It’s a letter, written in neat cursive.
“It’s from my mom,” he says, swallowing hard. “She wrote it before we left. She told me not to read it until I was in the air.”
He reads silently for a moment, lips trembling, then holds the letter out to me. “She said… she said she can’t take care of me anymore. That she’s sick. And that Aunt Margo is in Los Angeles. She thinks Aunt Margo can help.”
Tears prick my eyes as I skim the letter. It’s short but heartbreaking. It speaks of hospital visits, unpaid bills, and the desperate hope that a relative might offer Ben a chance at a better life. My heart squeezes with empathy. The mother must have been truly terrified and out of options to put her child on a plane alone like this.
“We’ll do everything we can to help,” I promise him, carefully folding the letter and placing it back in the bag. “Do you remember anything else about Aunt Margo? Like, does she work somewhere specific, or does she have a specific hobby or something you heard your mom mention?”
He shrugs sadly. “I just know she’s a painter. She used to paint pictures and send them to me. Mama said she lives somewhere near a beach.”
That’s not much to go on, especially in a city as sprawling as Los Angeles. But it’s something.
Eventually, Carmen and I realized we needed to update Captain Baker. We quietly explain the situation, highlighting the letter, the mother’s illness, and the mysterious Aunt Margo. Captain Baker sighs, running a hand across his forehead. “I’m sorry for the child, but we have to follow procedure. The authorities will meet us at the gate.”
I return to check on Ben, whose eyes are drooping with exhaustion. It’s been an overwhelming day, and we still have about two hours until we land. I find a pillow and a small blanket for him, gently suggesting he take a nap. He looks at me with tired gratitude and closes his eyes.
Watching him sleep, I feel a surge of protective instinct. I remember my younger cousins or the neighborhood kids I used to babysit. They all had parents or guardians to guide them and protect them. Ben, on the other hand, is suspended in this uncertain limbo—somewhere between the mother he had to leave behind and an aunt he’s never actually met. My heart aches for him.