As a flight attendant, I thought I’d seen it all—until I found a little boy hiding in the airplane lavatory. He was scared, alone, and clutching a crumpled paper bag. He said his name was Ben, but there was no record of him on the flight. No parent, no guardian, and no paperwork. When we gently asked questions, he revealed that his mother had told him to find his Aunt Margo. Inside the bag was a note from his mother, explaining she was very sick and believed this was Ben’s only chance at a better life.

We alerted the captain and arranged for child services to meet us upon landing. Ben stayed quietly in the galley, wrapped in a blanket, holding his bear. Before he left, my colleague pinned flight wings on his shirt. He hugged me tightly, whispering thanks. I should have let the system take over, but I couldn’t forget him. I searched, and after some effort, I found Margo—his real aunt—an artist in Los Angeles who had no idea her sister had sent Ben.

Margo was heartbroken but determined to help. She passed all the checks, and weeks later, Ben was with her. When I visited them during a stopover, Ben ran to me, smiling and full of life. He showed me his new home, his drawings, and gave me a folded paper. That night, I opened it: a crayon drawing of us on a plane, with the words: “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

That note still brings me to tears. I didn’t do anything extraordinary—I just cared. Sometimes, one kind moment can change a life. Ben reminded me why I chose this job in the first place: not just to fly, but to help people feel safe, even when they’re thousands of feet in the air.