The city bus rattled through the late afternoon traffic as I sat with one hand resting gently on my belly, feeling the tiny, rhythmic kicks of the baby growing inside me.
Seven months along, I was tired but quietly overjoyed, already imagining the life that awaited us. When an elderly woman climbed aboard, gripping her handbag and searching for a seat among the crowded rows, I immediately rose and offered her mine.
She paused, surprised, then smiled gratefully before sitting down. I thought nothing more of it — just a small, ordinary kindness in a long day but I had no idea it would turn into something unforgettable.
Throughout the ride, I felt her eyes on me every now and then, not in judgment but with a kind of tender recognition, as if my presence stirred an old memory. When the bus slowed to her stop, she gathered her things carefully. Just before stepping off, she leaned toward me and slipped something into my coat pocket. “Take care of yourself, dear,” she murmured before the doors closed behind her, leaving me puzzled and curious.
When I finally reached into my pocket, my fingers touched something smooth and cool – a small, worn locket.
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