A Son's Last Lesson

The moment Brenda saw Cameron, she ran to him to take his bag and drink, completely forgetting that she was the senior flight attendant. She only ran back to the cabin door to shut it after he'd settled down in his first-class seat.

The plane finally took off, half an hour after I'd boarded with Timmy. We landed two hours later, at which point Timmy had long since lost consciousness.

The moment the plane halted, I picked Timmy up and started to run to the cabin door. However, Brenda stopped me. "Hold it. Our first-class passengers need to disembark first. It's the airline company's policy."

She stretched out her arms, refusing to let me pass.

I cried out, "Brenda Johnson! This is your son!"

I wanted her to realize the severity of the situation, but all that did was anger her.

"I'm at work, and I'm the senior flight attendant for this flight! I have to be responsible for my passengers!" She shoved me aside to let the first-class passengers leave the plane first. Only then did she begrudgingly let me pass.

The ambulance was already waiting outside, and the medical personnel immediately hooked Timmy up to oxygen. Brenda didn't join me in the ambulance, though. She remained at her station.

…

When the lights outside the operating theater went off, Timmy was wheeled out with his eyes shut. He looked nothing like his usual adorable, energetic self.

"I'm sorry, but we did our best. You missed the best window for treatment. If only you'd been here ten minutes earlier…" The doctor sighed, feeling glum that an otherwise healthy child would be bedridden from now on.

My ears buzzed at his words, and my vision went black for a moment. I couldn't imagine Timmy being in a coma for the rest of his life.

I reached out to hold his hand as I watched him lie motionlessly on the hospital bed. I pried open his clenched fist to find a small action figure there. It was the first gift Brenda had gotten him after he'd started kindergarten.

It turned out he had it with him everywhere he went.

I blamed myself for this. It was my fault for failing to protect him. I was wracked with guilt, knowing that I hadn't gotten him the medical treatment he needed in time.

…

After settling things with Timmy, I called Brenda. However, all I got was a brush-off.

"I don't have time to be there. You don't do anything at home anyway, so why can't you care for Timmy? Do I have to be there to do everything? I'm busy with work, unlike you! You just hang around at home like a bum!" she said.

She was the one who'd begged me to quit my high-paying job, claiming that she wanted me to enjoy life and stop fretting over money. Yet now, she was twisting the truth and making it seem like she had to work her butt off to put food on the table while I lazed around at home.

"Can you say such things without them weighing down on your consicence, Brenda? Timmy is in a coma, and you can't even bother to come see him! And you call yourself his mother?" I retorted, clearly enraged.

It took all of my strength. I couldn't understand why a mother didn't care about her child at all.

However, I got my answer in the next second. It wasn't that she had no love for children—she just loved someone else's child.

I heard a little girl calling for Brenda on the other end of the line. It was Josie Lynch, Cameron's daughter.

As I listened to Brenda coo at her and wish her happy birthday, I realized she was prioritizing celebrating her goddaughter's birthday over being at the hospital with Timmy.

After a long while, I said calmly, "Brenda, let's get a divorce."