I didn’t give up my airplane seat to a pregnant woman.
She stood in the aisle, one hand on her belly, the other gripping the seat in front of her. She asked if I would switch so she could be closer to the bathroom.
People turned to look.
A man across the aisle frowned.
A woman shook her head like I was heartless.
I stayed seated.
The silence felt heavier than the turbulence.
“Seriously?” someone muttered.
“She’s pregnant,” another whispered.
My face burned, but I kept my eyes on my tray table.
Because if I stood up… everyone on that plane would’ve learned the truth.
You see, I wasn’t sitting there by accident.
I had chosen that seat because it was the closest one to the restroom.
Because I was flying home from chemotherapy.
Because the medication made me nauseous, dizzy, and weak.
Because standing for too long made my vision blur.
And because I was wearing a wig to hide the fact that I had lost my hair two weeks earlier.
I wanted to explain.
I wanted to tell them I wasn’t cruel.
But I was too tired.
The flight attendant finally stepped in and found her another seat.
As the plane lifted into the clouds, the judgmental stares faded.
But the lesson stayed with me.
You never know what someone is carrying — even when you think you do.
