She came into my shop on a dull afternoon, holding her newborn very gently, as if she was scared to let go. She stayed close to the door and kept looking around, like she thought someone might force her to leave.
She softly apologized and said her voice was shaking. She explained that she was breastfeeding, hadn’t eaten for two days, and was begging for a little food.
I didn’t question her or ask for any proof. I simply went to the shelves, put four loaves of bread and a carton of milk into a bag, and handed it to her.
That was when she started to cry.
It wasn’t loud crying—just quiet, shaky sobs as she tried not to wake her baby. She was feeling thankful, tired, ashamed, and relieved all at the same time.
Before she left, she surprised me. She took out a small baby toy from the blanket. It was soft, old, and a little torn. She placed it in my hand like it was very important.
When I looked confused, she quickly said, “Don’t ask. Someday, this will save you.”
Then she left, and I never saw her again.
The toy was later forgotten in a box in my basement under old papers and memories. Years went by, and life continued—until everything suddenly fell apart.
My business partner stole all our money and disappeared, leaving me with huge debts. Around the same time, I learned I was pregnant. I was alone, broke, and scared, about to become a single mother with unpaid bills and a lot of fear.
One night, feeling desperate and trying to find anything I could sell, I searched through the basement. The toy fell out of the box and ripped a little at the side.
Inside, I found a small piece of paper.
It had a phone number on it.
And four words: Call when in need.
My hands were shaking as I called the number.
She answered right away, like she had been waiting for my call for years. She softly said, “I’m glad you called. Now I can finally repay what I owe.”
We met soon after. She was the same woman with the newborn, but she had changed. She was calm, strong, and steady. The fear and desperation were gone. She looked like someone who had lost everything and somehow rebuilt her life.
She helped me quietly, without judging me or asking for praise. She supported me with money and comfort. She went with me to appointments, stayed with me when I was scared, and held my hand when I gave birth. After my baby arrived, she visited every day and became the only constant support in my fragile life.
Then, once my life was back on track and my baby and I were safe, she vanished.
There was no goodbye and no explanation. The phone number no longer worked.
All she left behind was the memory of her kindness—and the name she once gave me: Jade.