Flight Attendant Forced Me to Kneel on the Plane While Pregnant – Her Reason Left Me in Shock

After a few long days of grieving, I was ready to collapse into my own bed. I was six months pregnant and emotionally drained from my grandmother’s funeral.

The funeral had been tough, but it was a poignant farewell to a woman who had been my rock throughout my life.

“Are you sure you want to leave today?” my mother asked as I packed my suitcase. “You can wait a few days if you need to just sit with this loss.”

I smiled at her sadly.

“I know,” I said. “But I need to get back to work and back to Colin. You know my husband barely manages without me.”

“I suppose it’s a good idea for you to be in your comfort zone,” she said. “But Dad and I have decided that we’ll stay until the end of the week just to sort Gran’s house out and finalize anything that needs to be done. I know that Dad cannot wait to get home.”

“I just wish that Gran would have been around to see the baby,” I said, rubbing my hand along my belly. “That’s what I’ve wanted all along.”

“I know, honey,” my mother said. “I wish that you and Gran could have had that moment, but it’s okay, darling. At least you were here in the end when Gran needed you the most.”

Now, I was navigating the long lines at the airport. I had hated flying, but it was much easier to fly home than drive. I couldn’t manage spending twelve hours in a car with my bladder fighting me.

But finally, I made it onto the plane, ready for the journey back home to my husband.

“I’ll take that, ma’am,” a flight attendant told me, reaching out for my bag.

“Thank you,” I said, settling into my seat, my body aching for rest.

“Oh, I hate flying,” the woman next to me said. “It’s the worst. But I hate driving too. I should have just stayed home.”

I almost laughed because I agreed completely. I hated the turbulence that came with flying. It made me feel uneasy and anxious, as though I was absolutely losing control with each jolt.

But still, as I sat back, ready for the flight to take off and take me home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring at me.

Turning around, I noticed a man sitting a few rows behind, intently watching me. His gaze was unsettling, but I dismissed him as one of those people who judged a pregnant woman for traveling.

Soon after, the hum of the engines became a soothing background noise as the plane began its ascent.

“Finally,” the woman beside me said. “Let’s just get home.”

Little did I know that a nightmare was about to unfold.

Ten minutes after we were airborne, a flight attendant approached me, her gaze hard.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you please come with me?” she asked, her perfume taking over my nose.

I had no intention of waking up and walking anywhere, but her authoritative tone left no room for argument, and with a deep sigh, I unbuckled my seat and followed her to the clearing just off the bathroom.

Immediately, her demeanor changed.

“You need to get on your knees immediately!” she commanded, nodding to someone that I couldn’t see.

“What? Why? What happened?” I exclaimed, completely shocked.

“Now,” she said simply.

I was shocked and confused, but something in her voice made me comply. As I knelt, I couldn’t understand what was going on. Nothing felt right. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Just then, the man who had been staring at me earlier entered.

“Where is the golden necklace you stole?” he demanded, his voice threatening.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I didn’t steal anything! I am just returning from my grandmother’s funeral!”

He made a clucking sound with his tongue and produced a set of photographs and documents.

“This is you at the museum two days before the exhibit was moved to the hotel. This is you at the hotel foyer where the necklace went missing. We tracked you up to this plane after you ran away from the hotel.”

I looked at the pictures, and they were hazy. But they did bear a striking resemblance to me, though there were clear differences.

“Look,” I said suddenly. “The woman in these photos has a tattoo or scar or something on her wrist. Look! I don’t have anything like that!”

The man examined my wrists, his icy hands pulling roughly.

“See? No tattoos. No scars. Nothing. You have the wrong person!” I insisted. “And I’m pregnant! The woman in the photos is not!”

I felt a sudden wave of fear for my baby. In the heat of the moment, my baby lay there silently.

“But that could be a disguise,” he replied, not entirely convinced.

I thought about whether the police would be waiting for me at the airport. And whether I could get away from this. I just wanted to get home to Colin.

It was as if thinking about my husband had summoned the baby to wake up.

A sudden kick in my stomach made me act impulsively. Without thinking, I took the man’s hand and placed it on my belly.

“No, you can’t fake this,” I said.

He sighed, looking visibly relieved but also very embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry. You look very much like her. I was convinced that we were on the right track. I have to wait until we get back on the ground to actually deal with this.”