The day my son was born nearly cost me my life.
For ten days, he fought in the NICU while I stayed alone in a quiet hospital room, surrounded by machines and silence. Fear gripped me hardest at night—until she appeared.
Each evening, a nurse quietly came to my side. Calm, patient, and never rushed, she updated me on my baby, offered reassurance, and left a small, gentle smile that became my lifeline.
Years later, I saw her on the news. She was now running a volunteer program to support parents of NICU babies overnight. She had lost her own child before becoming a nurse, yet she transformed that grief into compassion for others.
I realized then that those late-night visits had been more than a duty—they were her heart, quietly shared. I later received a handwritten note from her, a reminder that kindness can ripple far beyond its moment.
Even now, I carry her example with me: true goodness arrives softly, in small gestures that light up the darkest nights.