People around us glanced over, but nobody said a word. The flight attendant walked by, smiled at him like it was sweet, and kept going. I didn’t know what to do. My first instinct was to ask where his parents were, but he had already tucked his head under my arm, breathing slow like he was finally safe.
I scanned the rows around us, waiting for someone—anyone—to speak up. But nothing.
I held him the whole flight. No one came for him. No announcements. No panic. Just… silence.
And when we landed, and everyone stood to get their bags, I finally asked the woman across the aisle if she knew where his parents were.
She blinked at me and said, “I thought you were his mom.”
That’s when the pit in my stomach really started to grow.
I looked down at the little boy, who was now stirring, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at me, a small, sleepy smile on his face. “Are we there yet?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
“We are,” I said softly, my mind racing. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Finn,” he said, then yawned, snuggling back into my side.
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