“I don’t want to sit next to that… woman!” Franklin Delaney almost shouted when the flight attendant tried to settle an elderly woman beside him.
“Sir, this is her seat. There’s nothing we can do,” the attendant said gently.
“That can’t be true! These seats are expensive—she couldn’t afford one! Look at her clothes!” he barked. Stella felt a flush of shame; she was wearing her only nice outfit and hated the assumption it was cheap.
Other business-class passengers turned to gape, and Stella, humiliated, looked down. The uproar delayed boarding until more attendants arrived to manage the scene.
“Miss, if there’s another seat in economy, I’ll take it. I spent all my savings on this, but I don’t want to cause trouble,” Stella said, goodwill in her tone. She had needed help navigating the confusing Seattle airport—she was 85 and this was her first time traveling. Thankfully, an attendant had escorted her through the airport to the gate.
Another stewardess stood firm beside her: “No, ma’am. You paid for this seat—nobody can say otherwise.” She threatened to call security, prompting Franklin to relent.
Once seated, Stella dropped her purse in fright. Franklin helped retrieve it—and whistled at a ruby locket: “That’s something else—real rubies?”
“My father gave it to my mother before WWII. She passed it to me,” Stella replied. Franklin softened. “I’m Franklin Delaney. I’m sorry for earlier. I’ve got my own troubles. What happened to your father?”
“He was a fighter pilot. He left when I was four—and never returned,” Stella said, pain in her voice. She shared how wartime hardship haunted her mother, yet she cherished the locket’s sentimental