Zariah, my four-year-old, doesn’t walk through stores — she dances. The aisles are her stage, and when music plays, she twirls and spins. Most people smile, but one woman frowned and muttered, “Your mom should teach you some manners.”
Before I could respond, Zariah tilted her head and said, “Tell your husband.” I froze. The woman stormed off, and I shared the moment online. Overnight, it went viral. But then came a message: the woman’s husband had passed away only three weeks earlier. My heart sank.
Soon after, the woman — Renata — reached out herself. She told me my daughter had actually made her laugh, the first time since losing Elias, her husband of 42 years. We decided to meet. Zariah wore her tutu. Renata brought her dog. What began as awkward turned into friendship.
Zariah called her “Miss Renny.” Renata came to birthdays, parks, even preschool pickups with a sign: “Zariah’s Royal Chauffeur.”
What started as tension in a store became healing. My daughter gave her joy; she gave us wisdom.
Life softens if you let it.
