The airport was freezing, or maybe it was the way people stared. I clutched my boarding pass, trying to ignore the weight of their gazes. The scar on my face, jagged and red from a recent car accident, had become my unwelcome identity.
As I settled into my window seat, I prayed for an uneventful flight. That hope shattered when the couple next to me arrived.
“Seriously? This is our seat?” the man grumbled. His gaze landed on me, and his face twisted. “Can’t you cover that up?”
The woman gasped, pulling her sweater over her nose. “How did they let her board like that?”
I froze, humiliation burning through me. The man flagged down a flight attendant. “She’s upsetting my girlfriend. Can you move her?”
The attendant’s calm gaze softened as she turned to me. “Miss, are you okay?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Moments later, the captain’s voice filled the cabin: “Harassment of any kind will not be tolerated.”
The attendant returned, addressing the couple. “You’ll need to move to the back of the plane.”
“This is ridiculous!” the man barked, but they eventually shuffled away, muttering angrily.
A ripple of applause spread through the cabin. Fighting back tears, I accepted the attendant’s offer to move me to business class.
As I stared out the window, the clouds stretching endlessly, a quiet peace settled over me. For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to hope. Scars and all, I felt seen.
