On the tram, a weary woman stepped in carrying a baby and a heavy bag. No one moved, so despite my aching back, I stood to give her my seat. She glanced at me strangely, as if words caught in her throat, then sat in silence, clutching her child.
When her stop came, she left without speaking, only casting me another unreadable look. Moments later, I felt something damp in my bag. My heart pounded as I pulled out a small cloth bundle. Inside was a wooden charm of a mother and child, along with a note: “Thank you for your kindness. This charm, from my grandmother, is all I can give. May it protect you and your baby.”
Tears welled as I realized her look had been one of unspoken gratitude. Holding the charm to my belly, I promised my unborn child I would always choose compassion, even when the world didn’t.
