Amy was the poor girl in my class—hungry, teased, invisible. I became her only friend, sharing extra meals, until one day she vanished without a trace.
Twelve years later, after surgery, a nurse appeared at my bedside. Tight bun, gentle eyes, familiar voice: “You will be okay. You helped me once… and I never forgot.” It was Amy.
She had moved away suddenly, lived through hardship, and now, confident and kind, she was my nurse. We filled in the missing years, laughed, remembered childhood, and slowly, friendship grew into something more.
Life threw another challenge—Amy’s mother fell ill—but she faced it with grace, reminding me how love and kindness endure. She rekindled her art, found success, and together we opened a small café that supports children in need.
From sandwiches in fifth grade to saving each other as adults, Amy and I discovered that kindness never truly disappears—it returns, often when you least expect it, sometimes as love, sometimes as a second chance.
