Rain poured as I drove home, my mind swirling with grief. My wedding was off. My career was over. I felt like the universe had given up on me—until I saw her.
A little girl, no older than seven, was slamming her fists against the school bus window, her face streaked with tears. She was screaming, but no one seemed to hear. Adrenaline shot through me. I floored the gas, chasing the bus until I could force it to stop.
The driver was furious. “What’s wrong with you?” he snapped. I ignored him, running inside. The kids were loud, chaotic—but at the back, the girl was struggling to breathe. Asthma attack. And her inhaler was missing.
I turned to the other children. “Where is it?” Silence. Then, a boy laughed. “She’s faking!” My blood boiled. I searched backpacks until I found it—hidden away like some cruel joke.
With the inhaler, the girl—Chelsea—finally caught her breath. Her relief was palpable. I stayed with her, holding her hand until her parents arrived. Their gratitude was overwhelming.
And then, as if fate had intervened, they offered me a job. Just hours after losing everything, I had a new beginning—all because I couldn’t ignore a child in need.
Sometimes, the worst moments lead to the best things.
