It started when I posted a giveaway—Reina’s old clothes, free to anyone who needed them. Minutes later, a woman named Nura messaged. Her daughter had nothing warm to wear. She asked if I could mail the box and promised to repay me “when she could.” Grieving my mother’s death, I mailed it anyway.
A year later, a package arrived. Inside were the same little dresses, a note that read: “You helped me when I had no one,” and my grandmother’s crocheted yellow duck—the one I hadn’t realized slipped inside. Nura had found it and sent it home.
We began talking. She told me how she’d fled an abusive partner with her two-year-old. We became friends—sharing meals, stories, and the small weight of rebuilding.
Years passed. When I lost my job, Nura sent me €300. “You helped me when you didn’t have to,” she said.
Today, her daughter calls mine “cousin.” The duck sits on their shared nightstand—a quiet symbol that kindness always circles back.
Because sometimes, the smallest gesture can open the biggest door—and remind someone they’re not invisible.
