As I drove home through the pouring rain, it felt like the entire sky was pressing down on me. Today had been one of the worst days of my life. First, my fiancé called off our wedding, and then I lost my job. The weight of everything was crushing, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
“Stay calm, Mollie,” I whispered to myself. “When one door closes, another opens, right?” But the words felt hollow, like an empty promise. How could I possibly go home and tell Mom I’d been laid off? She’d worry herself sick. Ever since Dad passed away, she’d been my rock, my anchor. And now I was about to disappoint her again.
My phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time—Mom again. I pulled over to the side of the road, rain streaming down the windows, and answered. “Hey, Mom, I’ll be home in about ten minutes.”
“Honey, the weather looks bad. Please be careful,” she urged, her voice filled with concern.
I swallowed hard, feeling the storm inside me raging even harder than the one outside. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “See you soon.”
I hung up, feeling the ache in my chest grow even heavier. I merged back into traffic, and that’s when something caught my eye—a school bus passing by. In the back window, a little girl was banging frantically, her face pressed against the glass, tears streaming down her cheeks.
My heart stopped. “What on earth…?” Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the gas, racing to catch up with the bus. Panic gripped me as I wondered what kind of danger the child could be in on a school bus. I honked repeatedly, but the driver didn’t seem to notice. I had no choice—I swerved in front of the bus, forcing it to stop in the middle of the road.
The driver, a burly man with a thick mustache, jumped out, looking furious. “Lady, what’s your problem? You could’ve caused an accident!”
Ignoring him, I pushed past and ran onto the bus. The noise hit me like a wall—kids laughing, shouting, completely unaware of the little girl’s distress. I rushed to the back, where the girl sat alone, red-faced and struggling to breathe.
“Oh my God, are you having an asthma attack?” I knelt beside her, panic rising in my chest. The little girl, whose name I soon learned was Chelsea, nodded frantically, gasping for air. I asked her where her inhaler was, but she couldn’t speak. Desperate, I turned to the bus driver. “Do you know where her inhaler is?”
The driver’s face went pale. “I didn’t even know she was in trouble. It’s so loud back here…”
Frustrated, I searched through her backpack—nothing. Chelsea’s lips were turning blue. I shouted for help, but the other kids just laughed, thinking it was some kind of game.
Then it hit me. I realized what had happened. I grabbed the backpacks of the kids near her, ignoring their angry protests. After searching a few bags, I finally found it—a blue inhaler with Chelsea’s name on it. I turned to the boy whose bag it was. “Why do you have this?” I demanded.
“It was just a joke,” he mumbled, looking away, embarrassed.
“A joke? She could have died!” I shouted, not wasting another second. I rushed back to Chelsea, helping her use the inhaler. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and the color returned to her face. I held her hand, whispering comforting words as she calmed down.
The bus driver stood there, wringing his hands, clearly shaken. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea…”
I glared at him, my anger barely contained. “You should have checked when you heard something was wrong. These kids are your responsibility!”
Chelsea tugged gently at my sleeve, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
Those two words hit me harder than anything else that had happened that day. I wasn’t about to leave her alone after this. “I’m staying with you until we get you home, okay?”
Chelsea nodded, managing a small smile. I told the driver I’d ride with her, and he quickly agreed. After moving my car, I sat beside her, wrapping my arm protectively around her shoulders. The other kids, now subdued, seemed to finally grasp the seriousness of the situation.
“Why didn’t anyone help you?” I asked softly.
Chelsea looked down, her lip trembling. “They think it’s funny when I can’t breathe. They hide my inhaler sometimes.”
My heart broke for her. “That’s not funny, Chelsea. That’s bullying, and it’s not okay.”
She nodded, still looking down at her hands. “I try to be brave, but I get so scared.”
I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “You were brave today. You got my attention, and you saved yourself. That’s real courage.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Really?”
“Really. You’re one of the bravest people I know,” I replied.
A few stops later, Chelsea pointed out the window. “That’s my mommy and daddy!”
As the bus came to a halt, Chelsea’s parents rushed over, their faces full of confusion and concern. “Chelsea, who’s this?” her mother asked, looking at me curiously.
Chelsea smiled, her voice now stronger. “This is Mollie. She saved my life.”
After Chelsea explained what had happened, her parents’ expressions shifted from confusion to overwhelming gratitude. “We don’t know how to thank you,” her father said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’m just glad I was there,” I replied softly.
Chelsea’s mother, Mrs. Stewart, insisted on driving me back to my car. As we pulled up, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. “So, Mollie,” Mrs. Stewart asked, glancing at me, “what do you do?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Funny you should ask. I lost my job today.”
Mrs. Stewart’s eyes widened with surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“I spoke up about some unethical practices at work. They didn’t like it, so they found an excuse to fire me.”
She was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she said, “My husband and I run a small business, and we might have an opening. Would you be interested in an interview?”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard her right. “Are you serious?” I asked, a hint of hope creeping into my voice.
She smiled warmly. “Absolutely. Anyone who would go to such lengths to help a child is someone I’d want on my team.”
As I stepped out of the car, she handed me her business card. “Call me tomorrow,” she said kindly. “We’ll set something up.”
The next morning, I called Mrs. Stewart, and by the afternoon, I was sitting in her office for an interview. The chance for a fresh start filled me with a hope I hadn’t felt in a long time. Mom was right when she hugged me the night before, pride shining in her eyes as she said, “I always knew you were meant for great things.”
And maybe she was right. Saving Chelsea had changed something inside me, showing me that even on my worst day, I could still make a difference.
