Michael Harrington was used to traveling in comfort. First-class was his sanctuary—no crying babies, no cramped seats, no inconveniences. So when he boarded his Seattle-bound flight and saw who he’d be sitting next to, his stomach sank.
She was large. Not just large—enormous, in his eyes. Her body spilled slightly into his seat space. As she fastened her belt, her elbow brushed his arm.
“Watch it,” he snapped without even looking at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Didn’t mean to—”
“Forgive you?” Michael sneered, finally turning. “Or forgive the 3,000 donuts that got you here?”
She blinked, stunned, her round cheeks flushing red.
He leaned in. “When you travel, lady, you book two seats. You’re not a passenger. You’re cargo.”
She turned toward the window. In its reflection, he caught a glimpse of her face—young, vulnerable, fighting back tears. But he didn’t stop.
“What do you do, eat your feelings for a living? Or are you just prepping for a hot dog contest?”
Still, she said nothing. Just reached up with trembling fingers to wipe away a tear.
Michael sat back smugly, like he’d won something.
But he didn’t notice the flight attendant watching. Or the older gentleman across the aisle narrowing his eyes. What he saw was a cheap coat, worn-out shoes, a frizzy ponytail. She didn’t belong in first class. Not like him, in his pressed designer blazer and Rolex.
He made one last jab as the drinks came around. “She’ll have a diet soda. Probably thinks it cancels out the pizza.”
The flight attendant, a woman with a polished smile and unshakable grace, handed over the drink but didn’t laugh at his joke. Instead, her jaw tightened ever so slightly.
Dinner followed. Two neat trays, salmon and risotto. Michael leaned over.
“Tell me, is that portion enough to sustain you until we land, or should I alert the galley?”
The woman still didn’t respond. But Michael noticed now she wasn’t crying anymore. Just calm. Focused. Her fingers traced the edge of her tray gently, as though she were waiting for something.
A few moments later, the flight attendant returned.
“Miss Carter,” she said, “The captain would be honored if you’d join him in the cockpit.”
Michael’s mouth fell open. Miss Carter? He shifted his legs to let her pass, watching her go with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
