Driving home late from the ER in San Antonio, I got a flat tire on a cold, dark stretch of interstate. My toddler, heavily medicated and fast asleep, lay in my arms as I began walking for help. I hadn’t gone far when a big rig pulled over. The driver told me to wait in his warm cab while he changed my tire.

It was winter, and we weren’t prepared for the sudden drop in temperature. I was scared, desperate, and had no other option but to trust this stranger. True to his word, he fixed the tire quickly and refused anything in return. “I just hope someone would do the same for my mom or sister,” he said.

I was used to judgment—pregnant at fifteen, whispers followed me everywhere. One day, a kind older woman handed me a folded $20, saying, “Diapers get expensive.” At home, I found a note tucked inside that read, “You’re stronger than you think.” Later, I discovered my name faintly written on the back.

When I told my mom, she paused and said the woman was a neighbor she once helped long ago. Her kindness came full circle to lift me when I needed it most. Those small moments—on the roadside and in the street—changed how I see the world. Now, I pass that kindness on, hoping it finds someone else in their darkest hour.