Seven months pregnant, exhausted and achy, I boarded a packed bus. Standing, I gripped the rail as it lurched forward. Then I saw her—a frail elderly woman boarding with trembling steps.
No one budged. Phones and windows held everyone’s attention. Without hesitation, I offered her my seat.
She paused, then sat with a quiet nod, her eyes locked on mine—gentle, searching, knowing. I fidgeted under her gaze.
At her stop, she touched my hand softly and slipped something heavy into my coat pocket before disappearing into the crowd.
I pulled out an old locket. Inside: a photo of a beaming mother cradling a newborn. Engraved opposite: *“Every sacrifice for love is never wasted.”*
Tears stung. Warmth flooded me. She hadn’t just given jewelry—she’d affirmed that every ache, every weary moment, was worth it for the life I carried.
I never saw her again. But when I held my baby months later, I understood. The locket stays with me. Love freely given returns in ways beyond imagining.
