“How am I supposed to sit comfortably?” he muttered, already irritated. As she sat and buckled in, her elbow brushed his.
“Watch it!” he snapped.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Michael sneered. “Forgive you—or the 3,000 cupcakes it took to get that size?”
She gasped, clearly shocked. She was young, with a soft, vulnerable face—only fueling his cruelty.
“Lady, book two seats next time,” he spat. Tears welled in her eyes, but he kept going, mocking her clothes, her weight, her poverty.
When the drinks cart came, he ordered a martini. “I don’t know what Moby Dick here will have,” he joked. The flight attendant wasn’t amused.
The woman quietly asked for a diet soda.
“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” Michael scoffed, feeling triumphant.
When dinner was served, he mocked her again. “Is that enough? Might take a buffet to feed you.”
Neither the woman nor the attendant responded. But minutes later, the attendant returned—with a smile.
“The captain’s a big fan. He’d like to invite you to the cockpit.”
Michael blinked, confused. Fan? Of her?
The woman blushed and followed the attendant. Michael fumed, composing angry complaints in his head.
Then the captain’s voice came over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a hero aboard. Five years ago, Amanda Reilly saved over 30 children from a collapsed school during a flood—carrying them on her back, in her arms. She was gravely injured. Today is her first flight since. Please help us honor her bravery.”
The cabin burst into applause.
Michael sat frozen. Amanda Reilly?
She returned to her seat, tearful—but proud. Passengers shook her hand, hugged her. The man behind Michael leaned forward.
“You had no idea, did you?”
Michael said nothing.
As Amanda sat beside him once more, never even glancing his way, the flight attendant leaned down and said:
“For someone so small, she carries the weight of the world. You? You just carry bitterness.”
Michael didn’t speak again—for the first time in years, humbled, shamed… and utterly alone.