
An entitled mom thought breaking my little daughter’s iPad would end her son’s tantrums. But what came next left her more panicked than I could’ve imagined. Karma works fast… even at 30,000 feet!
I, Bethany, 35 years old, never thought a two-hour flight could change so much. But there I was, settling into my seat with my five-year-old daughter Ella next to me. As the plane taxied down the runway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Ella was contentedly watching cartoons on her iPad, headphones snug on her ears…
“You comfy, sweetie?” I asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Ella nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. “Uh-huh. Can I have juice later?”
“Of course,” I smiled, reaching for my book. “Just let me know when you’re thirsty.”
As I cracked open my novel, movement across the aisle caught my eye. A family of three had just sat down: a couple and a little boy around Ella’s age. He was squirming in his seat, whining loudly.
“I’m bored!” he wailed, kicking the seat in front of him.
His mother shushed him. “We told you, no screens on this trip. Be a good boy.”
The boy’s whining intensified, and I saw his gaze lock onto Ella’s iPad.
Oh boy, I thought. This might be a long flight.
Twenty minutes in, a tap on my shoulder made me look up. The mom from across the aisle was leaning towards me, a tight smile on her face.
“Hi there! I couldn’t help but notice your daughter’s iPad. We’ve decided to be responsible parents and not give our son any screen time this vacation. Would you mind putting that away? It’s making him upset.”
I blinked, stunned by her audacity. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just… it’s not fair to him, you know?”
I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. “I’m sorry, but no. My daughter’s using it to stay calm during the flight.”
The woman’s smile vanished instantly. “Wow, really? You’d rather ruin our family trip than have your daughter take a break from her precious screen?”
“Listen,” I said, my patience wearing thin, “she’s quietly minding her own business. Your son could do the same if you’d brought him something to do.”
The woman, let’s just call her “Entitled Mom (EM)” was visibly frustrated.
“Some parents just can’t say no to their kids these days. No wonder they all end up spoiled.”
I turned back to my book, hoping that would end the conversation. But I could feel her glare burning into the side of my head.
“Everything okay, Mommy?” Ella asked, momentarily looking up from her show.
“Everything’s fine, sweetie. Just keep watching your cartoons.”
The next hour was tense. The boy’s tantrum escalated, his wails piercing through the cabin noise.
His parents shot us dirty looks every few minutes, as if we were personally responsible for their poor planning.
“I want that!” the boy shrieked, pointing at Ella’s iPad. “It’s not fair!”
His mother leaned over. “I know, honey. Some people are just SELFISH!”
I gritted my teeth, focusing on my book. The words blurred as I tried to block out the chaos around us. Ella remained oblivious, lost in her cartoons.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted beside us. Entitled Mom had leaned across the aisle, reaching for her bag. But instead of grabbing her belongings, her arm knocked into Ella’s tray table.
Time seemed to slow as I watched Ella’s iPad slide off the tray. It hit the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of fractures.
Ella’s scream cut through the air. “Mommy, my iPad!”
Entitled Mom’s face lit with fake surprise. “Oh no! I didn’t mean to do that! So clumsy of me!”
But I saw the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. This was NO ACCIDENT.
“What is wrong with you?” I hissed.
She shrugged, not even trying to hide her smugness. “These things happen. Maybe it’s a sign she needs less screen time.”
I was about to unleash a torrent of words that would make a sailor blush when a flight attendant appeared.
“Is everything alright here?” she asked, eyeing the shattered iPad.
Entitled Mom’s act kicked into high gear. “Oh, it was just a terrible accident. I feel awful!”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the flight attendant cut me off with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m so sorry about your device, ma’am. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do mid-flight. Please let us know if you need anything else.”
As she walked away, I turned to comfort my distraught daughter, knowing this battle was far from over. But it seemed karma had other plans.
With Ella’s iPad out of commission, the boy’s tantrum reached new heights. He bounced in his seat, kicked the chair in front of him, and yanked on the tray table.
“Sweetie, please settle down,” Entitled Mom pleaded.
“I’m bored! This is the worst trip ever!”
I watched from the corner of my eye, torn between sympathy for the child and a petty sense of satisfaction at Entitled Mom’s struggle.
Ella tugged on my sleeve, her eyes still watery. “Mommy, can you fix it?”
I hugged her close. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We’ll have to get it looked at when we land. How about we read a book instead?”
As I reached into my bag for another book, chaos erupted across the aisle.
The boy, in a fit of hyperactivity, had knocked over Entitled Mom’s coffee cup. The dark liquid spread across her lap and splashed into her open handbag.
“No, no, no!” she cried, frantically trying to save her belongings.
In her haste to rescue her bag, something fell out and landed on the floor. Yikes! It was a small blue booklet. I took a closer look and gasped. It was her PASSPORT!
Before anyone could react, her son’s foot came down on the fallen document, grinding it into the coffee-soaked carpet.
God, you should’ve seen Entitled Mom’s face. It was EPIC!
She snatched up the passport, but the damage was done. The pages were soaked through, stuck together in a soggy mess. The cover was warped beyond recognition. It looked like a water-logged, soggy piece of toast.
“Ma’am?” A flight attendant approached. “Is that your passport?”
Entitled Mom nodded, speechless for once.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to inform you that a damaged passport could cause serious issues when we land. Especially if you’re traveling internationally.”
Entitled Mom’s eyes widened in panic. She turned to her husband, seeking a way out. “What are we going to do? Our connecting flight to Paris leaves in three hours!”
Her husband shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe we can explain at customs?”
As they bickered, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of malevolence.
As the plane began its descent, Entitled Mom was frantically dabbing at her ruined passport with tissues, muttering under her breath. Her son, exhausted from his earlier tantrums, had finally fallen asleep.
I leaned over to Ella, who was reading her storybook with a big smile. “Great job, sweetie! You’re a real bookworm!”
She beamed at me, her earlier distress over the iPad forgotten. “Can we bake cupcakes when we get home, Mommy?”
“Absolutely,” I promised, ruffling her hair. “And maybe we can bake some cookies too!”
A soft whimper from across the aisle drew my attention. Entitled Mom was on the phone, her eyes brimming with panic.
“Yes, I understand it’s last minute, but we need to reschedule our entire trip. No, we can’t make the connecting flight. Because… because my passport is ruined.”
I couldn’t help but overhear as she explained the situation, detailing how she’d have to go through the process of getting an emergency passport before they could continue their journey.
As we began to taxi to our gate, Entitled Mom caught my eye as we stood to disembark.
For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of remorse in her eyes. But then her son started whining again, and the moment passed.
“Ready to go, Ella?” I asked, helping her gather her things.
“Can we get ice cream at the airport, Mommy?”
“I think we deserve a little treat, don’t you think?!” I laughed.
As we made our way off the plane, I couldn’t help but reflect on the bizarre turn of events. What had started as a simple two-hour flight had turned into a lesson in karma, patience, and the unpredictability of travel.
I glanced back one last time to see Entitled Mom still frantically trying to salvage her ruined passport. It was a grim reminder that our actions, good or bad, often have unexpected consequences.
Turns out, it wasn’t just Ella’s iPad that got ruined on that flight. Entitled Mom ended up losing something much more valuable!
As we walked hand in hand towards the baggage claim, I squeezed Ella’s fingers, thankful for the perspective this chaotic flight had given me. Sometimes, the best lessons come from the worst experiences.
Have you ever encountered a nightmare neighbor on a flight? Share your own flight horror stories in the comments!
We Adopted a 3-Year-Old Boy – When My Husband Went to Bathe Him for the First Time, He Shouted, ‘We Must Return Him!’

After years of infertility, we adopted Sam, a sweet 3-year-old with ocean-blue eyes. But when my husband went to bathe Sam, he ran out, yelling, “We must return him!” His panic made no sense until I spotted the distinctive marking on Sam’s foot.
I never expected that bringing home our adopted son would unravel the fabric of my marriage. But looking back now, I realize that some gifts come wrapped in heartache, and sometimes the universe has a twisted sense of timing.

A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
“Are you nervous?” I asked Mark as we drove to the agency.
My hands fidgeted with the tiny blue sweater I’d bought for Sam, our soon-to-be son. The fabric was impossibly soft against my fingers, and I imagined his small shoulders filling it out.
“Me? Nah,” Mark replied, but his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. “Just ready to get this show on the road. Traffic’s making me antsy.”

A man driving a car | Source: Pexels
He drummed his fingers on the dash, a nervous tick I’d noticed more frequently lately.
“You’ve checked the car seat three times,” he added with a forced chuckle. “Pretty sure you’re the nervous one.”
“Of course I am!” I smoothed the sweater again. “We’ve waited so long for this.”
The adoption process had been grueling, mostly handled by me while Mark focused on his expanding business.

A woman staring thoughtfully out a car window | Source: Midjourney
The endless paperwork, home studies, and interviews had consumed my life for months as I searched agency lists for a child. We’d initially planned to adopt an infant, but the waiting lists stretched endlessly, so I started expanding our options.
That’s how I found Sam’s photo — a three-year-old boy with eyes like summer skies and a smile that could melt glaciers.
His mother had abandoned him, and something in those eyes spoke directly to my heart. Maybe it was the hint of sadness behind his smile, or perhaps it was fate.

A little boy with striking blue eyes | Source: Midjourney
“Look at this little guy,” I said to Mark one evening, showing him the photo on my tablet. The blue glow illuminated his face as he studied it.
He’d smiled so softly I knew he wanted this boy as much as I did. “He looks like a great kid. Those eyes are something else.”
“But could we handle a toddler?”
“Of course we can! No matter how old the kid is, I know you’ll be a great mom.” He squeezed my shoulder as I stared at the picture.

A woman staring at her tablet | Source: Midjourney
We completed the application process and, after what seemed like forever, we went to the agency to bring Sam home. The social worker, Ms. Chen, led us to a small playroom where Sam sat building a tower of blocks.
“Sam,” she said softly, “remember the nice couple we talked about? They’re here.”
I kneeled beside him, my heart thundering. “Hi, Sam. I love your tower. May I help?”
He studied me for a long moment, nodded, and handed me a red block. That simple gesture felt like the beginning of everything.

A child playing with toy blocks | Source: Midjourney
The drive home was quiet. Sam clutched a stuffed elephant we’d brought him, occasionally making small trumpet sounds that made Mark chuckle. I kept glancing back at him in his car seat, hardly believing he was real.
At home, I started unpacking Sam’s few belongings. His small duffle seemed impossibly light for containing a child’s whole world.
“I can give him his bath,” Mark offered, from the door. “Give you a chance to set up his room exactly how you want it.”

A man standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Great idea!” I beamed, thinking how wonderful it was that Mark wanted to bond right away. “Don’t forget the bath toys I picked up for him.”
They disappeared down the hall, and I hummed as I arranged Sam’s clothes in his new dresser. Each tiny sock and T-shirt made this feel more real. The peace lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
“WE MUST RETURN HIM!”
Mark’s shout hit me like a physical blow.

A woman looking over her shoulder | Source: Midjourney
He burst from the bathroom as I raced into the hall. Mark’s face was ghost-white.
“What do you mean, return him?” I struggled to keep my voice steady, gripping the doorframe. “We just adopted him! He’s not a sweater from Target!”
Mark paced the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his breathing ragged. “I just realized… I can’t do this. I can’t treat him like my own. This was a mistake.”
“Why would you say that?” My voice cracked like thin ice.

A confused woman | Source: Midjourney
“You were excited just hours ago! You were making elephant noises with him in the car!”
“I don’t know; it just hit me. I can’t bond with him.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, staring instead at a point somewhere over my shoulder. His hands trembled.
“You’re being heartless!” I snapped, pushing past him into the bathroom.
Sam sat in the tub looking small and confused, and still wearing everything but his socks and shoes. He held his elephant clutched tight against his chest.

A boy holding a stuffed elephant | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, buddy,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice while my world crumbled. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Would Mr. Elephant like a bath too?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s scared of water.”
“That’s okay. He can watch from here.” I set the toy safely on the counter. “Arms up!”
As I helped Sam undress, I noticed something that stopped my heart.

A stunned woman | Source: Midjourney
Sam had a distinctive birthmark on his left foot. I’d seen that exact mark before, on Mark’s foot, during countless summer days by the pool. The same unique curve, the same placement.
My hands trembled as I bathed Sam, and my mind raced.
“You’ve got magic bubbles,” Sam said, poking at the foam I’d barely registered adding to the water.
“They’re extra special bubbles,” I muttered, watching him play. His smile, which had seemed so uniquely his own, now held echoes of my husband’s.

A bubble bath | Source: Pexels
That night, after tucking Sam into his new bed, I confronted Mark in our bedroom. The distance between us on the king-size mattress felt infinite.
“The birthmark on his foot is identical to yours.”
Mark froze in the act of removing his watch, then forced a laugh that sounded like breaking glass. “Pure coincidence. Lots of people have birthmarks.”
“I want you to take a DNA test.”

A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, turning away. “You’re letting your imagination run wild. It’s been a stressful day.”
But his reaction told me everything. The next day, while Mark was at work, I took a few strands of hair from his brush and sent them for testing, along with a swab I took from Sam’s cheek during tooth-brushing time. I told him we were checking for cavities.
The wait was excruciating. Mark grew increasingly distant, spending more time at the office. Meanwhile, Sam and I grew closer.

A woman playing with a child | Source: Midjourney
He started calling me “Mama” within days, and each time he did, my heart swelled with love even as it ached with uncertainty.
We developed a routine of morning pancakes, bedtime stories, and afternoon walks to the park where he’d collect “treasure” (leaves and interesting rocks) for his windowsill.
When the results arrived two weeks later, they confirmed what I’d suspected. Mark was Sam’s biological father. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the paper until the words blurred, hearing Sam’s laughter float in from the backyard where he played with his new bubble wand.

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“It was one night,” Mark finally confessed when I confronted him with the results. “I was drunk, at a conference. I never knew… I never thought…” He reached for me, his face crumpling. “Please, we can work this out. I’ll do better.”
I stepped back, my voice ice-cold. “You knew the moment you saw that birthmark. That’s why you panicked.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sinking into a kitchen chair. “When I saw him in the bath, it all came rushing back. That woman… I never got her name. I was ashamed, I tried to forget…”

An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“An accident four years ago, while I was going through fertility treatments? Crying every month when they failed?” Each question felt like glass in my throat.
The next morning, I visited a lawyer, a sharp-eyed woman named Janet who listened without judgment. She confirmed what I hoped — being Sam’s legal adoptive mother gave me parental rights. Mark’s previously unknown paternity didn’t automatically grant him custody.
“I’m filing for divorce,” I told Mark that evening after Sam was asleep. “And I’m seeking full custody of Sam.”

A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
“Amanda, please—”
“His mother already abandoned him and you were ready to do the same,” I cut in. “I won’t let that happen.”
His face crumpled. “I love you.”
“Not enough to come clean. It seems to me that you loved yourself more.”
Mark didn’t fight it, so the divorce proceedings were quick. Sam adjusted better than I expected, though sometimes he asked why Daddy didn’t live with us anymore.

A boy in his bed | Source: Midjourney
“Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes,” I’d tell him, stroking his hair. “But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.” It was the kindest truth I could offer.
Years have passed since then, and Sam’s grown into a remarkable young man. Mark sends birthday cards and occasional emails but keeps his distance — his choice, not mine.
People sometimes ask if I regret not walking away when I discovered the truth. I always shake my head.

A woman hugging her son | Source: Midjourney
Sam wasn’t just an adopted child anymore; he was my son, biology, and betrayal be damned. Love isn’t always simple, but it’s always a choice. I vowed never to give him up, except to his future fiancée, of course.
Here’s another story: Despite being a struggling single mom, I had to help the elderly woman I found out in the cold on Christmas Eve. I never imagined that my simple act of kindness would lead to a mysterious luxury SUV at my door — or heal my broken heart.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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