“Thank you,” I replied, settling into my seat, my body aching for rest.
“Oh, I hate flying,” the woman next to me said. “It’s the worst. But I hate driving too. I should have just stayed home.”
I almost laughed because I completely agreed. Turbulence made me feel uneasy and anxious, as though I was losing control with each jolt.
As I sat back, ready for takeoff, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring at me. Turning around, I noticed a man a few rows behind, intently watching me. His gaze was unsettling, but I dismissed him as someone judging a pregnant woman for traveling.
The hum of the engines became a soothing background noise as the plane began its ascent.
“Finally,” the woman beside me said. “Let’s just get home.”
Little did I know, a nightmare was about to unfold.
Ten minutes into the flight, a flight attendant approached me with a stern expression. “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please come with me?” she asked, her perfume overwhelming.
Reluctantly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed her to the area near the bathroom. Immediately, her demeanor changed.
“You need to get on your knees immediately!” she commanded, nodding to someone I couldn’t see.
“What? Why? What happened?” I exclaimed, completely shocked.
“Now,” she said simply.
Shocked and confused, I complied. As I knelt, I couldn’t understand what was happening. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
The man who had been staring at me earlier approached. “Where is the golden necklace you stole?” he demanded, his voice threatening.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t steal anything! I’m just returning from my grandmother’s funeral!” I protested.
He made a clucking sound and produced a set of photographs and documents. “This is you at the museum two days before the exhibit was moved to the hotel. This is you at the hotel foyer where the necklace went missing. We tracked you to this plane after you ran away from the hotel.”
I looked at the pictures. They were hazy but bore a striking resemblance to me, though there were clear differences.
“Look,” I said, pointing to my wrist. “The woman in these photos has a tattoo or scar on her wrist. Look! I don’t have anything like that!”
The man examined my wrists, his icy hands pulling roughly. “See? No tattoos. No scars. Nothing. You have the wrong person!” I insisted. “And I’m pregnant! The woman in the photos isn’t!”
I felt a sudden wave of fear for my baby. In the heat of the moment, my baby lay still.
“But that could be a disguise,” he replied, not entirely convinced.
I wondered if the police would be waiting for me at the airport and if I could escape this situation. I just wanted to get home to Colin.
As if thinking about my husband had summoned the baby to wake up, a sudden kick in my stomach made me act impulsively. Without thinking, I took the man’s hand and placed it on my belly.
“No, you can’t fake this,” I said.
He sighed, looking visibly relieved but also very embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. You look very much like her. I was convinced we were on the right track. I have to wait until we land to deal with this.”
“Look, I get it,” I said. “But I’m not her. I’m just trying to get home,” I said, feeling calmer as I tried to stand.
