As the paramedics wheeled Richard away, Amara sat quietly in her seat, still trying to process what had just happened. The adrenaline that had propelled her into action was now ebbing away, leaving her exhausted and overwhelmed. She barely noticed the curious glances from other passengers or the hushed conversations about the “heroic girl.” Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, pride mingling with disbelief.
The flight attendants, now disarmed from their initial shock, approached her with gratitude and amazement. “You were incredible, sweetheart,” one of them said, handing her a complimentary snack and a bottle of water. “You really saved that man’s life.” Amara nodded shyly, her cheeks warm under the attention, but inside she felt a deep sense of relief—relief that her instincts had not failed her and that, in some small way, she had honored her mother’s legacy.
As the passengers disembarked, many stopped to thank her, some offering small tokens of appreciation—a granola bar, a bookmark, a pat on the shoulder. Amara accepted them all with a grateful heart, but she was still thinking about Richard and what he had tried to say amidst the chaos.
