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Leonard glanced at the photo. “Your grandson?”
“No,” she replied. “My son.”
For illustrative purpose only
“I had him when I was 32,” she said. “His father disappeared when I told him I was pregnant. My mother was already gone by then, lost to dementia. I tried to manage, but it became clear that I could not give my baby the life he deserved.”
“I gave him up for adoption,” she said. “It was the hardest thing I have ever done.”
“I found him years later,” Eleanor continued. “A kind neighbor helped me use email, and I took one of those DNA tests. I wrote to him. He answered once and said he was doing well. After that, he stopped responding.”
She smiled softly. Sadness and hope blended in her expression.
“He’s the pilot,” she said. “Today is his birthday. I knew I might not get another chance. This was the closest I could be to him.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Eleanor added. “I just wanted to be near him. That’s enough.”
Unbeknownst to her, a nearby flight attendant had overheard the conversation. Quietly, she slipped into the cockpit.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we will be arriving at JFK shortly.”
“I would also like to welcome someone very special on board today,” he continued. His voice was slightly unsteady. “My birth mother is flying with us for the first time. Mom, please wait for me after we land.”
Gasps rippled through the cabin. Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
When the plane touched down, the cockpit door opened. The pilot, a tall man with kind eyes, walked straight toward her and ignored protocol.
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