In the third month of her pregnancy, Ann Sargent’s life shattered with one brutal sentence: “I’m leaving you.” Her husband confessed he was tired and had never been happy. Now, as a mother of three with another baby on the way, Ann was plunged into uncertainty. But giving up wasn’t in her nature. She quickly found a promising job, but with no money for a nanny, full-time work was impossible. The bills piled up, and the future looked bleak. Desperate, Ann began selling off her possessions—treasured items, both valuable and sentimentally irreplaceable. The final item to go was the most precious: an antique baby stroller. It had once been hers as an infant and had lovingly cradled each of her children in turn. Though nearly sixty years old, it was in immaculate condition. She needed it for the new baby, but she needed the money more. Ann hoped to fetch a decent price at the flea market, banking on the stroller’s vintage charm. A vendor offered $50—far less than its worth, but she took it, believing it was gone for good. But two days later, a surprise awaited. She opened her front door, and there it was—the stroller, sitting on her porch. Inside was an envelope with just three words: “Please call me.””
