On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I boarded a crowded cross-town bus, seven months pregnant and exhausted. Every joint ached beneath the weight of the child growing inside me. When an elderly woman stepped aboard and searched quietly for a seat, I stood without hesitation, steadied myself against the rail, and offered her mine. She accepted with a gentle nod and settled beside me. As the bus moved through traffic, I noticed her looking at me from time to time. There was nothing intrusive in her expression. Instead, she watched me with a strange tenderness, almost as though she recognized something beyond my face.

When her stop arrived, she rose carefully and leaned toward me. Before I could ask anything, she slipped something cold and metallic into my coat pocket. Then she smiled knowingly and stepped onto the sidewalk. I reached into my pocket and pulled out an antique locket, tarnished with age. My fingers trembled as I opened it and discovered something hidden inside.