I was giving away clothes for a 2–3-year-old when a woman, Nura, texted me. Her daughter had nothing to wear and asked if I could mail the clothes. I hesitated, then sent them at my own expense.
A year later, I received a package. Inside were the same dresses, now worn but freshly laundered, and a tiny crocheted yellow duck—one I’d never mentioned, made by my grandmother. A note read: “You helped me when I had no one. This duck lived on my daughter’s nightstand and kept the bad dreams away. She’s better now. I think it’s time it comes home.”
That night, I called Nura. She told me how she’d escaped an abusive partner, living in a shelter with her daughter, Maïra. We talked for 43 minutes, and from that night on, we stayed in touch—sharing photos, updates, support.
Over time, Nura found work, a small flat, and we became friends. When I lost my job, she sent me money, insisting, “You helped me when you didn’t have to. Now let me help you.”
Years later, the girls—Reina and Maïra—call each other cousins. We visit each other, cook together, and laugh. What started as a small act of giving turned into a bond that saved both our families.
Sometimes kindness isn’t small. It reminds someone they’re not invisible.
