We talked for hours.
He told me about the setbacks, the moments he nearly gave up, and the people he now helped every day. I told him about my life, the ordinary years shaped by ordinary joys and losses.
As I watched him walk away, I felt something settle inside me.
That night long ago, I believed I was helping someone survive a storm.
What I didn’t know was that kindness doesn’t vanish once the door closes. It stays. It grows. It waits.
And sometimes, years later, it returns—not as a burden, but as a reminder that the smallest act of mercy can change two lives forever.
