The Stranger On The Tram Slipped Something In My Bag… And It Changed Everything

I still have the Ziploc. The ink has bled to a soft bruise, the number is useless, but the words are legible: You’re kind. Please forgive me. Call this number.

Helping Tahlia didn’t make me brave or noble. It made me responsible to the version of myself I want my daughter to see. Sometimes all a person needs is one moment of dignity to pivot the whole story. If you’ve been that for someone—or if someone was that for you—hold onto it. You might be the reason a stranger believes the world still has people who will stand up on a tram, make room, and mean it.