Reborn, I Let His Childhood Sweetheart Pay for Her Crimes

Cassio stared at me, momentarily confused by my compliance.

But he quickly lost interest in me.

The woman had used the moment Ella pretended to rise to place her small, worn leather bag firmly on the first-class seat.

Cassio’s expression darkened instantly.

He grabbed the bag and hurled it to the carpeted floor of the cabin.

“What the hell is your problem? Did you not hear a word I said? My friend is pregnant! Can’t you show some basic decency? You’re pathetic!”

The woman looked at her bag on the floor, distress clear on her face. Her voice trembled.

“That… that bag has a special bottle of olive oil from my husband’s family grove in Sicily. It’s for him. You’ve broken it!”

She bent stiffly to open the bag.

The sharp, pungent smell of high-quality, unfiltered olive oil mixed with shattered glass filled the immediate space.

The dark green oil was already seeping through the fabric, creating a slick, fragrant puddle.

People nearby recoiled, covering their noses.

Ella took one look, turned, and made a theatrical gagging sound.

Cassio, seeing her reaction, kicked the bag further down the aisle.

“So it’s broken. Big deal. It wasn’t worth much anyway. I’ll pay for it. And for your seat.”

He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket—five hundred-dollar bills—and threw them into the spreading oil slick.

The woman, her movements slow and pained, carefully picked each bill out of the oil.

She wiped them clean on her simple dress and placed them on Ella’s fold-down tray table.

“Young man, I don’t want your money. I want my seat.”

“I had knee surgery last month. I cannot stand for long. My husband had his men work for three days to get me this specific seat. I am not trading it.”

Ella looked at the oil-stained bills with utter disgust.

She gave another dry heave, used a tissue to push the money off the table onto the floor, and clutched Cassio’s arm.

“Just forget it, Cass. I don’t want to sit there anymore. It’s filthy and causing such a scene…”

She started to stand up again.

“Ella, no. You sit. Right now.”

Cassio’s voice was soft as he pressed her back down. Then he turned his fury on the woman.

It was immediate and volcanic.

He seized the front of her dress, his face inches from hers.

“You had surgery? Prove it! You’re just a bitter old woman who doesn’t want to give up her seat to someone who needs it! What, never had kids of your own so you’re jealous? Where’s your humanity?!”

A flight attendant and a few passengers tried to intervene.

“Ma’am, please, maybe just let the young lady sit? She’s expecting.”

“It’s a long flight. Can’t we all just be reasonable?”

I remembered. In my last life, at the arrivals gate, I’d seen this woman walking with a pronounced, careful limp.

She was telling the truth.

An image flashed in my mind: last year, at the hospital with my own mother, a stranger offering her a seat.

My resolve hardened.

I didn’t stop Cassio this time. But my seat was mine to give.

I took off my headphones and gestured to the woman.

“Signora, come. Sit here.”

She shook her head vehemently.

But I stood, took her arm, and guided her firmly into my aisle seat in row 28.

“Sit. I’ve been sitting too long anyway. Rest. I’ll tell you if I get tired.”

The woman looked up at me. Tears, held back for so long, finally spilled over.

She wiped her oil-smeared hands on her dress again and grasped mine.

“Signorina, I… I have no money to thank you. But this kindness… my husband. He will know how to thank you properly when we land.”

I gave her a small, reassuring nod.

Then I turned and walked toward the back galley.

Partly so she wouldn’t feel obligated to get up.

Mostly because I couldn’t stand another second of watching Ella’s performance.