I turned back and GASPED when I saw this man giving my baby his headphones.
Not just placing them on her ears—he was holding them gently, letting her listen to something.
I rushed over, panic rising. “What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I meant.
He quickly removed the headphones and held up his hands. “I’m sorry—I should’ve asked. I wasn’t trying to do anything weird.”
I reached out and took my baby, checking her over. She wasn’t crying anymore. In fact… she was smiling. Calm.
He smiled, nervously. “It’s a lullaby in Portuguese. My wife used to sing it to our daughter every night. It always worked like magic.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding for a different reason now.
“I lost them both. A car accident, last year.” His voice broke slightly. “I still keep her playlist. Sometimes I forget it’s not for her anymore.”
Silence fell between us. The noise of the plane faded behind the hum of emotion.
I sat back down slowly, baby in my arms, her tiny hand reaching for the quiet melody that had soothed her.
Tears welled up in my eyes—not from fear this time, but from the ache of unexpected connection.
I looked over at him and whispered, “Thank you. For the song. For the calm. For the reminder.”
He nodded, and we didn’t say much else for the rest of the flight. But something unspoken passed between us.
That day, I learned that sometimes, kindness wears a face we don’t expect. And healing can come in the most unexpected lullabies.