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Two days before Christmas, worn down by long hours and slick winter roads, I made a decision I would normally warn my children never to make. I pulled over for a woman standing alone at a bus stop, cradling a baby against the cold. I told myself it would be temporary—just warmth, food, and safety for one night. It didn’t feel heroic or brave. It felt human. I had no idea that choice would return to me in a way that would reshape how I understand generosity.
Life at that point was already stretched thin. As a single mother of two young girls who still believe wholeheartedly in holiday magic, I balance hospital shifts, tight finances, and the responsibility of keeping our small inherited home afloat. When I saw that woman, all I could think was how close any of us can be to needing help. I invited her in, shared a meal, and watched her hold her baby with quiet determination—the kind of love that doesn’t ask for pity, only a chance to breathe.
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