David stood at the airport check-in counter, his newborn daughter, Lily, cradled in his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion and grief, but he held himself together as best he could. The baby stirred against his chest, letting out a soft whimper before quieting again.
Her small pink hat was slightly askew, and David gently adjusted it, his rough hands tender in the motion. “Sir,” the airline employee said, her tone apologetic yet firm, “I’m afraid we can’t allow you to board without proper documentation for the baby. Do you have her birth certificate?”
David’s jaw tightened.
“I have a hospital discharge note. That’s all I’ve got right now. We’ve been… through a lot.” He reached into his worn backpack, fumbling through papers, hospital forms, a death certificate, and a folded letter from his late wife’s doctor.
His movements were shaky, uncoordinated. “I’m sorry,” the employee said again. “We need official identification for any infant under two weeks old.
It’s federal policy.”
He swallowed hard, trying not to lose control. “Please,” he said, voice breaking, “I just need to get home. My wife—she… she passed away three days ago, giving birth.
The hospital said the certificate would be mailed later. We’ve got nowhere else to go.”
The woman behind the counter looked at him with genuine sympathy but didn’t waver. “I understand, sir.
I really do. But the system won’t let me print a boarding pass without that document. Maybe if you speak with a supervisor—”
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind him.
David turned. An elderly woman with neatly curled white hair, dressed in a pale blue coat and holding a cane, was watching him closely. Her face was kind, lined with the years, and her eyes sparkled with the wisdom of someone who had seen both joy and sorrow in abundance.
“Is there a problem here?” she asked softly, stepping forward. David blinked back tears. “They won’t let me board.
I just need to get to Denver. My sister’s there, she’s all the family we’ve got left.”
The old woman’s gaze shifted to the employee, her tone calm but authoritative. “Surely there’s some way to help this young man.
You can see he’s not trying to cause trouble.”
“Ma’am, I wish I could,” the employee replied. “But it’s not up to me. The system needs a birth certificate number to verify the infant’s identity.”
The woman turned back to David.
“May I?” she asked, extending her arms slightly toward Lily. He hesitated for a moment, but something about her presence felt safe. He nodded and handed the baby to her gently.
The woman cradled Lily with the practiced ease of someone who had once done this many times. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered, smiling down at the sleeping infant. “I remember when my son was this small.
Feels like a lifetime ago.”
David’s throat tightened. “She looks like her mom.”
The woman’s smile softened. “Then she must be lovely indeed.” She turned back to the counter.
“Miss, could you please call a supervisor? I think there’s been enough red tape for one day.”
The employee hesitated, then nodded and made a quick call. Within minutes, a supervisor, a man in his fifties with a salt-and-pepper beard, arrived.
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