Seven months pregnant, I rode the bus, excited yet weary. An older woman boarded, and I offered her my seat. She sat, gazing at me as if recognizing a familiar face. I smiled, glad to help—kindness came easily.
At her stop, she rose slowly, then slipped something into my coat pocket with a gentle smile, like sharing a secret. Surprised, I waited to check.
It was a delicate, charming locket. Inside: a photo of a young woman cradling a baby, and a note: “Thank you. Years ago, someone gave up their seat for me when I carried my child.”
Tears welled—not from sorrow, but the circle of kindness closing. I held it tenderly, heart warmed.
The bus rolled on, filling me with hope for my unborn child, the world, and our quiet connections with strangers. I vowed to pass it forward, one small act at a time.
