After grieving my grandmother’s funeral, I was eager to get home. Six months pregnant and emotionally drained, I boarded the plane, ready to return to my husband, Colin. The flight began uneventfully, until I noticed a man behind me staring strangely.

Minutes after takeoff, a flight attendant abruptly asked me to follow her. Suddenly, I was ordered to kneel, accused of stealing a golden necklace. The man revealed blurry photos resembling me but with differences — a tattoo I didn’t have. I insisted I was innocent and pregnant, showing him my belly as proof.

Just when I thought the nightmare was over, the flight attendant pulled a gun and zip-tied the man’s hands, revealing herself as the real thief wearing the stolen necklace. Seizing the moment, I kicked her, and together with the man, we subdued her.

The rest of the flight passed in apologies and explanations. Detective Connor introduced himself and apologized for the mistaken identity, explaining they’d been tracking the thief for months.

Landing safely, I finally saw Colin waiting with yellow tulips and a warm smile. At home, I told him everything. Holding my belly, he reassured me, “I’m glad you’re home.”