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I had to take a six-hour flight alone with my two-month-old baby. My husband was in another city, and I had no relatives to help. Normally my son is calm, but that day everything seemed to bother him — the pressure, the noise, the strange environment. He cried constantly, and I felt exhausted, on the verge of tears myself.
The man sitting next to me wore a suit and looked stressed, clearly heading to an important meeting. He sighed, shifted in his seat, and gave us annoyed glances. I felt terrible, guilty, and completely overwhelmed.
Then, without warning, he turned to me and said something I never expected:
— Give him to me for a moment. Try to rest.
I hesitated, apologizing, but he gently insisted.
— Don’t worry. I’m a pediatrician. And a father.
I handed him my son, and almost instantly, the baby relaxed and fell asleep. I slept for nearly an hour — a miracle.
When we landed, he returned my baby and said softly:
— You’re a strong mother. Never forget that.
I never will.
