The Woman in Seat 32B

When Mollie Booth was growing up, she'd had lots of dreams for how her life would turn out. Being a single mother at 18 and flying to a foreign land wasn't one of them.

She stood anxiously in line to board the plane, shifting side to side in an attempt to ease her aching feet. Her young son cooed peacefully in his sleep, unaware that he wore baby clothes Mollie had found in a dumpster and washed in a gas station sink. It was easy being a baby, Mollie thought as he pressed her cheek to his fuzzy head. Babies didn't have to worry about things like used clothes or jerks who run off with all your money when the test comes back 'positive.'

"Ticket and passports?" the gate attendant asked, peering curiously at Mollie's dirty clothes and the baby strapped to her chest with a ragged blanket.

Mollie steadied the baby with one hand and pulled the tickets and passports out of her drawstring bag. The only other contents were extra diapers, pacifiers, and one clean pair of clothes for her first day of work.

Once on the plane, her hopes of not having fellow passengers next to her were dashed when she looked from her ticket to the numbers above the seats. Mollie's ticket was for 32A, a window seat. An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair sat in 32B. Mollie would have to climb over her to get up to go to the bathroom to nurse.

Her heart sank and she looked between the woman and her son. "I..." she gestured awkwardly to the window seat.

"Oh," the woman looked up, her kind brown eyes crinkling with a smile. "Please sit down."

They awkwardly shuffled past each other and Mollie sat with a groan. She hadn't slept in 48 hours and it was a relief to finally be off of her feet.

"I'm Che Dia Na," the woman said with a smile. "But you can call me Dia."

"I'm Mollie Booth," Mollie replied.

"And this little man?" Dia ducked so she could see the baby better.

"He... he doesn't have a name yet. His passport just says 'infant male.'" Mollie blushed and looked down. "I haven't had a chance to name him yet."

Dia nodded as if it wasn't odd at all.

Just as Mollie thought the flight might go well, the baby woke. He didn't seem to like the sounds of the people moving around the plane or the bright lights. He sucked in a breath and squawled. Everyone around them covered their ears and glared at Mollie. She shrank back against the seat, holding her son closer.

The only person who didn't seem bothered, however, was the woman in seat 32B. "He sounds so little and precious," Dia cooed, peering at the baby over the rim of her glasses. She smiled when the baby turned his head and stared back at her with teary eyes.

"He's only a few days old, he doesn't understand anything yet, please be patient--" Mollie began as the other passengers continued to glare at her.

But Dia waved them off with a stern expression and turned back to Mollie with a kind smile. "Don't mind them. Baby cries are so tender at this age," she said, wiggling her fingers at the boy.

"Thank you," Mollie's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Would it be alright if I hold him for you while you get your seatbelt on? That way you can prepare to nurse him. Their ears don't hurt so much during take-off if they're eating," Dia offered.

Tears burning her exhausted eyes, Mollie looked down at her son and slowly relaxed her hold. Hesitantly, she untied the blanket and passed him to Dia.

"Why are you flying to Korea?" Dia asked as Mollie covered her torso with the blanket.

"I got a job teaching English," Mollie said as Dia handed the baby back so he could nurse. Mollie had gotten her bachelor's degree while she was still in high school and had been lucky enough to find work as a teacher. The job came with a tiny apartment and a small salary, enough for Mollie to pay for a nanny for her baby while she was at work.

"All alone?" Dia asked as the plane's engines roared to life, pressing them both back into the seats.

Mollie dropped her eyes. Older people, especially women, usually gave her judgemental looks about being a single mother, and one so young at that. "My parents died when I was thirteen."

"And the baby's father?"

Mollie scoffed. "Ran off with my inheritance when I got pregnant," Mollie mumbled. "I earned a college degree at 18, I should have been smart enough to avoid losers like him, right? I must seem like an immature kid to you."

Dia shook her head firmly. "I was 17 when my daughter was born in a small Hmong village in Vietnam. Two days later we became refugees escaping the Vietnam War. We were all alone when we came to America. My husband was dead, I couldn't speak the language... and I was all she had. I felt much like you do now. No one else understood the fear I felt... or the determination I had to take care of her."

"What did you do?" Mollie asked, her throat tight.

"I worked three jobs, cleaning with her strapped to my back until she was old enough for school. Now, she's a heart surgeon. I know it's hard now, but don't give up," Dia said, taking Mollie's hand tightly. "Never underestimate a mother's ability to provide for her baby. I made it, against all odds, and you will too."

Mollie nodded, unable to speak as tears traced down her cheeks. She clutched the woman's hand in gratitude for her kindness, the first she'd seen in months.

We're going to make it, baby, she promised her son. Together. Whatever it takes, I'll take care of you.