Stella stepped onto the airplane with slow, careful steps, her hand brushing the back of each seat as she made her way down the aisle. It was her very first flight, and she was already eighty-five years old.
Her heart fluttered with a quiet mix of nerves and joy. She had saved for years to afford a single business class seat on this short trip, and the moment had finally arrived.
She had chosen her best clothes that morning. They were not new, and they were not expensive, but they were clean and pressed, and they carried the dignity of a woman who had worked her whole life.
As she approached her row, she paused and looked at her ticket again. The number matched. She smiled softly to herself and lowered into her seat by the window.
The man next to her was already settled in. He wore a tailored jacket, a thick gold watch, and an expression that turned sour the moment he saw her.
