THE BABY WOULDN’T STOP CRYING ON THE FLIGHT—THEN A LITTLE GIRL WHISPERED, “HE’S NOT SICK. HE’S AFRAID.”
THE BABY WOULDN’T STOP CRYING ON THE FLIGHT—THEN A LITTLE GIRL WHISPERED, “HE’S NOT SICK. HE’S AFRAID.”
For two hours, the baby had screamed.
Not cried.
Screamed.
The sound echoed through the overnight flight from Chicago to San Francisco.
Passengers were exhausted. A businessman had covered his ears with both hands. A woman in the next row had already complained twice.
And in seat 14C sat Michael Anderson, holding his seven-month-old son, Noah, with trembling arms.
“Please, buddy,” he whispered. “Daddy's trying.”
Nothing worked.
Michael had changed Noah's diaper three times.
He had warmed a bottle.
He had walked the aisle until his legs hurt.
Still, Noah screamed.
A flight attendant crouched beside him.
“Mr. Anderson, is there anything else we can do?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don't know what's wrong with him.”
The flight attendant offered a sympathetic smile.
“We'll figure it out.”
But Michael could see the frustration in her eyes.
Then someone touched his sleeve.
He looked down.
A little girl stood beside his seat.
She couldn't have been more than five.
She wore purple pajamas covered in tiny stars and held a stuffed rabbit against her chest.
“Excuse me,” she whispered.
Michael sighed.
“Sweetheart, it's okay. Go back to your seat.”
The girl didn't move.
She looked directly at Noah.
Then she said:
“He's scared.”
Michael blinked.
“What?”
“He's not hungry.”
Michael stared at her.
“How do you know?”
The girl pointed at Noah's hands.
“He keeps making fists.”
Michael looked down.
She was right.
The baby's tiny fingers were clenched tightly.
The girl stepped closer.
“Can I try something?”
Michael hesitated.
Then Noah screamed again.
“Okay.”
The girl gently placed her stuffed rabbit against Noah's chest.
“My name is Sophie,” she whispered.
Noah's crying suddenly weakened.
Sophie began humming.
It was a quiet little melody.
Michael watched in disbelief.
Noah stopped screaming.
His breathing slowed.
The entire row became silent.
A passenger across the aisle lowered his phone.
The flight attendant stared.
Michael whispered:
“What did you do?”
Sophie shrugged.
“My brother used to cry like that.”
Michael's expression changed.
“Used to?”
Sophie looked down.
“He doesn't anymore.”
“Why?”
She hugged her rabbit tighter.
“Because he went to heaven.”
Michael's face softened.
“Oh, honey. I'm sorry.”
Sophie nodded.
Then she looked at Noah again.
Her smile disappeared.
“Can I tell you something?”
Michael leaned closer.
“Sure.”
Sophie whispered:
“Your baby keeps looking at the window because he knows someone is watching you.”
Michael froze.
“What?”
Sophie pointed toward the rear of the cabin.
“That man.”
Michael turned.
A man in a gray baseball cap immediately looked away.
Michael's heart began pounding.
He glanced back at Noah.
The baby had opened his eyes.
He was staring directly toward the man.
Michael quietly pressed the call button.
“Can I speak to security when we land?”
The flight attendant nodded.
But Sophie suddenly grabbed Michael's hand.
“Don't wait until we land.”
Michael stared at her.
“Why?”
She pointed toward the man's seat.
“He has the same picture.”
“What picture?”
Sophie reached into her pajama pocket.
She pulled out a small photograph.
Michael's blood ran cold.
It showed Noah.
The exact same photograph was taped inside the mysterious man's wallet.
Michael stared at Sophie.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mommy gave it to me.”
“Why?”
Sophie looked toward her mother several rows behind them.
Her mother's face had suddenly gone pale.
Michael stood.
“Who is your mother?”
Before Sophie could answer, the woman rushed toward them.
“Michael?”
He froze.
“How do you know my name?”
The woman looked terrified.
“Because your wife used to be my best friend.”
Michael's stomach dropped.
“My wife died eight months ago.”
The woman nodded.
“I know.”
She glanced toward the man in the gray cap.
“He's the reason.”
Michael felt the blood drain from his face.
“What are you talking about?”
The woman lowered her voice.
“Your wife didn't die in an accident.”
Michael stopped breathing.
Sophie grabbed his hand.
“Mommy said you weren't supposed to find out yet.”
Michael stared at the little girl.
“Find out what?”
The woman looked toward the man in the gray cap.
Then she whispered:
“Your wife left you a message before she died.”
Michael's voice cracked.
“What message?”
The woman reached into her purse.
“She said if anything happened to her…”
She looked at Noah.
“…you must never let that man take your son.”
Behind them, the mysterious passenger suddenly stood.
Michael tightened his grip around Noah.
And for the first time that night, his baby wasn't crying anymore.
He was staring at the man.
As if he knew him.
As if he remembered something no seven-month-old should remember.
Then the plane lights flickered.
The man in the gray cap smiled.
And whispered:
“It's time.”
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