A dense, irregular shape inside one of the suitcases made him stop scrolling. He leaned closer, frowning.
“Hold on… what is that?”

He looked up at the owner of the bag — an elderly woman in a headscarf, smiling kindly but looking tired.
“Ma’am, could you please open your suitcase?”

She blinked, confused.
“Oh, dear… there’s nothing unusual inside. Just gifts for my grandchildren.”
“Then it won’t be a problem to open it,” he replied calmly but firmly.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the old gray suitcase onto the inspection table. The lock wouldn’t open.
The officer took a pair of pliers — click — the latch snapped.

When he lifted the lid, the entire checkpoint fell silent.
Inside were stuffed toys — teddy bears, dolls, bunnies — all neatly arranged. They looked innocent enough… but something was off.

He picked up a teddy bear. It was heavier than it should have been. The fabric was stiff. He slid a small knife along the seam — and a puff of gray powder spilled out.

The air froze.
“Oh my God…” whispered a colleague. “That’s drugs.”

The old woman’s face turned white.
“No! That’s impossible! I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know!”
“Who gave you this bag?” asked the officer, his tone sharp.
“My neighbor! He said he’d help me pack some gifts. I… I didn’t look inside!”

They took her to a small interview room. She sat hunched over, sobbing quietly.
Across from her, the investigator watched, expressionless.
“What’s his name — this neighbor?”
“I… I think it was Milan. Or maybe Petr. We barely spoke — he just said he wanted to help.”

The investigator exchanged a glance with another officer.
Half an hour later, the second man returned, face pale.
“We found him,” he said. “Dead. Murdered in his apartment.”

The woman froze, her lips trembling.
“What? Dead? But why?”
“Because someone used you, ma’am,” the officer said quietly. “That suitcase was bait. You were supposed to be their delivery. Once you landed, someone would’ve taken the bag… and you’d have disappeared.”

She covered her face with her hands and cried.
“I just wanted to see my grandchildren…”

Two days later, the story hit every news outlet.
Headlines screamed:
“Grandmother Turned Drug Mule Without Knowing It!”
“Criminal Network Exploits the Elderly for Smuggling!”

The public was divided — some pitied her, others doubted her innocence. But the investigation uncovered something even darker.
In one of the stuffed toys, police found a small locket engraved with the initials A.N.
Forensic tests revealed traces of blood inside. The DNA matched a young woman who had gone missing three months earlier.

The young officer who had discovered the suitcase couldn’t sleep anymore. He kept seeing the image of the toys, the gray powder spilling like ash, and the old woman’s trembling hands.

One night, his phone rang.
“You’re the one who found that suitcase, aren’t you?” said a low, distorted voice.
“Who is this?”
“She wasn’t the first… and she won’t be the last.”

The line went dead. The number didn’t exist.

Airport security tightened immediately. The old woman was eventually released — proven innocent. But her eyes had lost their warmth.

Every evening, she lit a candle by her window and whispered,
“I only wanted to do something good…”

Whenever she heard a plane pass overhead, her chest tightened. She never traveled again.

Because she had learned the cruel truth:
Not every gift brings joy. Some gifts carry death.