One evening, as we stood outside my apartment after a long walk, Clara looked at me in a soft, thoughtful way. “You know,” she said, “that day in the restaurant, when you asked for help… you reminded me that kindness still matters.” I laughed and told her she had it backward—that her kindness had mattered to me.

She shook her head. “No. You showed me that people still try, even when life gets difficult.” I didn’t know what to say, so instead, I reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. My son babbled from his stroller, as if giving his approval, and for the first time in a long while, I realized that the life I thought had fallen apart was slowly being rebuilt—into something gentler, steadier, and unexpectedly full of hope.