After my grandmother’s funeral, I was emotionally drained and six months pregnant. Despite my mother’s suggestion to stay longer, I needed to return to work and my husband, Colin. At the airport, a flight attendant took my bag as I settled into my seat, ready for the flight home.

During the flight, a flight attendant approached me and asked me to follow her. To my shock, she commanded me to kneel, accusing me of stealing a golden necklace. A man, who had been staring at me earlier, produced photos and documents, claiming I was the thief. The woman in the photos had a wrist tattoo, which I didn’t have, proving my innocence. I said, “See? No tattoos. No scars. Nothing. You have the wrong person!”

Suddenly, the flight attendant pulled out a gun and zip-tied the man’s hands. Acting on instinct, I kicked her, and the man tackled her. We discovered she was the real thief, posing as a flight attendant. Detective Connor, who had mistaken me for the thief, apologized profusely.

Upon landing, the woman was arrested. Detective Connor explained they had been tracking her for months. Despite the ordeal, I felt relief. When I saw Colin waiting with yellow tulips, I felt at peace. We drove home in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. Colin, concerned, asked if I was okay. I assured him, “I’m absolutely fine. I just wanted to come back home to you.”