During my final cabin check before takeoff, I heard a soft noise from the rear lavatory. Thinking a passenger had snuck in, I knocked. No answer. The door wasn’t locked, so I opened it—and found a barefoot little boy, no older than five, curled up in the corner.

He looked up at me, terrified, then suddenly threw his arms around my neck. “Mama!” he cried. But something felt off. His clothes were oversized, his hands smudged with marker, and on his wrist were faintly written numbers. My heart sank.

I called security discreetly. No missing child had been reported. He wasn’t on the manifest. Someone had hidden him on the plane.

While walking the cabin with him in my arms, a man near the back avoided looking at us. The boy whispered, “Bad man.” That was all I needed.

The man was arrested. The boy—Mateo—had been kidnapped two days earlier. His parents had no idea where he was. That night, they were reunited, crying and thanking me.

I was exhausted, but I knew I’d been in the right place at the right time. Sometimes, a gut feeling and a soft whisper can save a life.

And this time, it did.