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…
A cheerful little girl holding a tablet | Source: Freepik
“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.
Grayscale of a little boy throwing a tantrum | Source: Pexels
“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.
A little boy crying | Source: Pexels
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?”
An annoyed woman sitting in an airplane | Source: Midjourney
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.”
An annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
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.”
Little girl holding a tablet in an airplane | Source: Pexels
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.
Grayscale of a sad boy | Source: Pexels
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!”
A tablet with a shattered screen | Source: Midjourney
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.”
Two women arguing | Source: Midjourney
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.”
A flight attendant smiling | Source: Midjourney
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!”
A little boy covering his eye | Source: Pexels
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?”
A little girl crying in an airplane | Source: Midjourney
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!
Coffee spilling from a cup | Source: Midjourney
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.
A startled woman | Source: Pexels
“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!”
Side view of a flight attendant | Source: Midjourney
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.
An anxious man | Source: Midjourney
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.
Grayscale of a woman holding a phone | Source: Midjourney
“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.
An anxious woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
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.
A boy opening his mouth | Source: Pexels
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.
A frustrated woman holding her head | Source: Pexels
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!
Lady with a little girl leaving an airport | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story: An entitled rich man mocks a poor boy shining shoes in an underpass. He learns a brutal lesson the very next day.
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.
After My Brother’s Funeral, His Widow Gave Me a Letter – I Wasn’t Ready for What He’d Confessed
At my brother’s funeral, I expected sorrow and silence, not a sealed letter that would turn my world upside down. What he confessed inside rewrote everything I thought I knew about my family.
The sky was gray the morning of my brother’s funeral. The kind of gray that seeps into your bones. Cold, quiet, still.
A gloomy day at a cemetery | Source: Pexels
I stood beside my parents near the front of the small chapel. My black coat felt too tight. My shoes pinched. But I didn’t care. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Eric was gone.
People filled the seats. Some cried. Some just stared ahead. My mother sat stiff, clutching a tissue she never used. Her eyes stayed dry.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I whispered.
People at a funeral service | Source: Pexels
She nodded but didn’t look at me. “Fine, Lily. Just tired.”
She wasn’t fine. She was strange. Distant.
My dad leaned toward a cousin in the second row, whispering something I couldn’t hear. When he noticed me watching, he turned away fast.
Something felt off. Not just sadness. Something else.
A woman standing near a coffin | Source: Pexels
I kept catching them looking at me. My mom. My dad. And then looking away like they were guilty.
Eric’s widow, Laura, sat alone a few rows ahead. Her shoulders shook as she wiped her face. Real tears. Real pain. She didn’t fake it.
When the service ended, people left in twos and threes. Some hugged me. Some said nothing. I barely noticed.
A young woman at a funeral | Source: Pexels
Outside, the wind picked up. I stood by a tree near the parking lot, just needing air.
That’s when I saw Laura, walking toward me with something in her hands.
“Lily,” she said. Her voice cracked. “I need to give you this.”
“What is it?”
A woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
She held out an envelope. My name was written on the front in Eric’s handwriting.
“He asked me to give it to you. After.”
I stared at it. “After what?”
She looked away. “After everything.”
Two women talking at a funeral | Source: Midjourney
I took it with shaking hands. The envelope felt heavier than paper should.
“Did he… say anything else?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Just that it was important.”
I didn’t open it right away. I didn’t want to. Not yet.
A sealed letter on a table | Source: Pexels
I drove home in silence. I sat in the car for a while, staring at the envelope in my lap. My name looked strange in his writing. Like he was still here. Like he’d speak if I opened it.
But I didn’t. Not yet. My mind went back. To him. To us.
Eric was never the warm kind. No hugs. No late-night talks. He never called just to say hi.
A serious man looking at the camera | Source: Pexels
But he always showed up. He came to my high school graduation. Sat in the front row, silent, hands folded.
When I was in the hospital with the flu at sixteen, he was there. Just sitting. Didn’t say much. But didn’t leave.
He was like a shadow. Always around. Never close.
Sometimes, when I looked at him, I felt something more. Like there was something he wanted to say but never did.
A serious man looking to his side | Source: Pexels
He’d glance at me, open his mouth, then close it again. Now he never would.
I walked into my house, sat at the kitchen table, and stared at the envelope one more time. Then I broke the seal.
The paper inside the envelope was folded once. It smelled faintly like him—old books and cologne. My hands shook as I opened it.
A woman opening a letter | Source: Pexels
My dearest Lily,
There’s no easy way to write this. I’ve started and stopped this letter more times than I can count. If you’re reading it, then I never found the courage to say this to your face. I’m sorry for that.
Lily… I’m not just your brother. I’m your father.
I stared at the words. My heart dropped. My stomach twisted.
A shocked woman reading a letter | Source: Pexels
I was fifteen. Young. Stupid. I fell in love with someone who got scared when she found out she was pregnant. She wanted to leave, to run. My parents stepped in. They said they’d raise you as their own—and that I could be your brother. It was supposed to protect you.
But I never stopped being your dad. Not for a single day.
Tears blurred the words. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my sweater.
A man writing a letter | Source: Pexels
I wanted to tell you every time you smiled. Every birthday. Every school play. I wanted to say, ‘That’s my girl.’ But I didn’t. Because I was a boy pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
So I watched you grow from the side. I showed up when I could. I stayed close, but never too close. That was the deal. And the older you got, the harder it got.
A woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave. You deserved more than silence. You deserved the truth.
I love you, Lily. Always.
Love, Dad
The word Dad hit me like a wave.
A shocked woman looking at a letter | Source: Pexels
I dropped the letter and pressed my hands over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I cried right there at the kitchen table. Ugly, loud sobs. My chest ached. My whole life had shifted in the space of one page.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
The next morning, I drove to Laura’s house. She opened the door slowly. Her eyes were red, like mine.
A grieving woman opening the door of her house | Source: Midjourney
“You read it,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Can I come in?”
She stepped aside. We sat in her living room in silence.
A sad woman sitting in her chair | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t know until after we got married,” she finally said. “He told me one night after a bad dream. He was shaking. I asked what was wrong, and he told me everything.”
I looked at her. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?”
Laura swallowed hard. “He wanted to. So many times. But he was scared. Scared it would break your heart. Scared you’d hate him.”
An upset woman looking down | Source: Pexels
I rubbed my hands together. “It makes sense now. All of it. The distance. The quiet way he loved me. It always felt like something was being held back.”
“He loved you more than anything, Lily. That letter tore him apart. But he made me promise—if anything ever happened to him, I had to give it to you.”
“I didn’t know him,” I whispered. “Not really.”
One woman comforting the other one | Source: Pexels
Laura reached for my hand. “You did. You just didn’t know why he was the way he was.”
I nodded slowly. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away.
“I wish he’d told me sooner.”
“So did he.”
A crying woman looking at the camera | Source: Pexels
We sat quietly again. Nothing more needed to be said. But I knew what I had to do next.
I parked outside the house I grew up in. It looked the same. White shutters, neat yard, small porch. But it felt different now—like a place built on secrets.
I rang the bell. My mom opened the door, her smile ready. It dropped the second she saw my face.
A serious woman standing on the porch | Source: Midjourney
“Lily?”
“We need to talk.”
She stepped back without a word.
My dad was in the kitchen, sipping coffee. He looked up, startled.
“Hey, sweetheart—”
A mature man drinking coffee | Source: Pexels
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, my voice sharper than I meant. “Why did you lie to me my whole life?”
They exchanged a look. My mom sat down. Her hands trembled.
“We didn’t lie,” she said softly. “We were trying to protect you.”
“From what? From the truth? From my own father?”
A sad mature woman | Source: Pexels
“You were a baby,” my dad said. “We thought it would be easier. Simpler.”
“For who? Me? Or you?”
My mom’s eyes filled. “We didn’t want you to feel different. Or confused. Eric was so young. He wasn’t ready.”
“He was ready,” I snapped. “He showed up for me in ways you didn’t even notice. He was there. Always. But I never got to call him Dad. Not once.”
A shouting young woman | Source: Pexels
My mother stood and tried to touch my arm. I stepped back.
“Don’t,” I said. “Please.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We were scared.”
I nodded slowly. “Well, now I’m the one who’s scared. Because I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t know how to forgive you.”
A crying woman wiping her nose | Source: Pexels
My father set his mug down like it weighed too much. “Take all the time you need. We’ll be here.”
“I need space,” I said. “That’s all I can ask for right now.”
They didn’t argue. My mom wiped her eyes. My dad just nodded.
I walked out, the letter pressed to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me standing.
A woman walking out clutching a letter to her chest | Source: Midjourney
That night, I sat alone in my apartment, the letter open on the table again. I read it slowly, tracing the lines with my finger.
The pain was still there. But something else was too. Peace. A beginning.
I found a small frame in the back of my closet. I placed the letter inside and set it on my bookshelf.
Right in the center. Where I could see it every day.
A framed letter on a sunlit bookshelf | Source: Midjourney
He was my father. And now, I finally know.
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