While driving back home, I noticed a young girl on a school bus, her terrified expression visible through the rear window. She was desperately pounding on the glass, capturing all of my attention. It was evident that something was seriously amiss. Despite the apparent safety of the school bus, I couldn’t ignore the sense of danger emanating from the situation. Determined to unravel the mystery, I followed the bus, my heart racing, until the shocking truth dawned on me.
The rain beat down on my car windshield, each droplet mirroring the turmoil within my mind. Today was unfolding as one of the most challenging days of my life. Just a week ago, my engagement had been called off, and now I had lost my job. My thoughts were a jumble of frustration and anxiety.
“Stay strong, Mollie,” I murmured to myself, clutching the steering wheel tightly. “When one door shuts, another one opens… right?” The words rang hollow, however. How could I confront my mom and confess that I had lost my job? Ever since my dad passed away, she had been my rock, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
My phone buzzed once more, Mom calling for what seemed like the hundredth time. I sighed and pulled over to answer. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
“Mollie, darling, have you checked the weather? There’s a storm approaching, please drive safely.”
I swallowed hard, sensing the turmoil intensify within me. “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself…”
“I’m okay, just exhausted. I’ll be back soon. Love you,” I ended the call before my emotions could surface.
Resuming my drive, my thoughts raced incessantly. How could I convey to her that I had been dismissed? They cited a pretext of failing to meet quarterly targets, but deep down, I knew the real cause – I had spoken out against some unethical actions.
“What more could possibly go wrong today?” I quietly grumbled, unaware of the impending events.
As I merged back into the traffic flow, a bright yellow school bus whizzed past me. In the rear window, something seized my gaze—a frightened little girl, her small fists frantically pounding on the glass. She appeared terrified.
“What in the world…?” I exclaimed, my heart pounding in my chest. Without a second thought, I pressed down on the accelerator and trailed the bus. Why was she so distressed? What was unfolding inside that bus?
“I’m on my way,” I muttered, honking my horn in an attempt to grab the driver’s attention, although he seemed entirely oblivious.
Acting on pure instinct, I impulsively made a daring choice—I abruptly steered in front of the bus, compelling it to halt in the middle of the street. The driver, a robust man with a thick black mustache, emerged in a rage.
“Ma’am, what on earth do you think you’re doing? You could have triggered a serious accident!”
Disregarding his words, I brushed past him and dashed onto the bus. The cacophony engulfed me instantly—children laughing, yelling, entirely unaware of the unfolding scenario. I hurried to the rear, where the young girl sat by herself, her face stained with tears. Yet, as I approached her, I found myself frozen in place.
She wasn’t facing the danger I initially perceived. She was experiencing an asthma attack.
“Oh my God, you’re struggling to breathe!” I knelt beside her, feeling panic overwhelm me. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
She gestured towards the ID card hanging around her neck. Her name was Chelsea.
“Where’s your inhaler, Chelsea?” I inquired, but she could only shake her head, gasping for air. The driver, now looking pale, came up to me.
“I had no idea she had asthma! It’s so loud, I couldn’t hear anything!”
Suppressing my frustration, I began to search for her backpack. Nothing. Her lips were turning blue, and my heart was racing.
“I urgently requested the driver’s help in locating her inhaler!” I exclaimed. In a state of panic, we combed through the seats and aisles, while the remaining children, some of them snickering, observed our efforts. I felt a surge of anger.
“This situation is serious!” I reprimanded them, realizing the inhaler was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, a realization struck me. I seized one of the students’ backpacks and rummaged through it, disregarding their objections. At last, I discovered it—a blue inhaler with Chelsea’s name inscribed on it.
Turning to the boy who owned the backpack, I demanded, “Why do you possess this?”
He averted his gaze, muttering, “It was meant as a prank.”
“A joke? Her life was at stake!” I hurried back to Chelsea, assisting her in using the inhaler. Gradually, her breathing normalized, and her complexion returned. I held her hand as she relaxed, murmuring comforting words.
The driver stood there, visibly remorseful. “I apologize. I had no idea…”
“These kids are under your care,” I stated, my voice trembling with fury. “You should have been more vigilant.”
He nodded, too embarrassed to reply. Chelsea pulled on my sleeve. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice feeble yet resolute.
Those two words struck me like a blow to the stomach. I couldn’t abandon her now. “I’ll stick with you until we reach your place, alright?” She nodded, a faint smile breaking through her tear-stained face.
After relocating my car, I stayed by Chelsea’s side for the remainder of the journey. The other children, now subdued, remained quiet.
“Why didn’t the others assist you?” I inquired softly.
“They find it amusing when I struggle to breathe,” Chelsea murmured. “Sometimes they hide my inhaler.”
My heart went out to her. “That’s not acceptable, Chelsea. What they did was cruel, but you showed courage.”
She glanced at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. It took a great deal of bravery to capture my attention the way you did.”
A couple of stops later, Chelsea gestured out the window. “That’s my mom and dad.”
As we disembarked from the bus, her parents hurried over, looking concerned. “Chelsea, who is this?” her mother inquired, giving me a suspicious glance.
With a newfound strength in her voice, Chelsea replied, “This is Mollie. She rescued me.”
Upon learning the details, her parents’ expressions transformed from bewilderment to gratitude. “We can’t express our gratitude enough,” Chelsea’s father uttered, his eyes filled with tears.
“I’m grateful for being there,” I responded.
Mrs. Stewart, Chelsea’s mother, insisted on driving me back to my vehicle. Upon arriving at the parking lot, she inquired, “So, Mollie, what is your occupation?”
I chuckled bitterly. “Funny you should ask. I actually got terminated from my job today.”
Mrs. Stewart arched her eyebrows. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. What occurred?”
I sighed, feeling the weight of the day on my shoulders. “I spoke out against some unethical practices at work. They didn’t appreciate that, so they let me go.”
After a moment of silence, she suggested, “You know, my spouse and I manage a small company. We may have a job opening. Would you be interested in coming in for an interview?”
I blinked, questioning if I had correctly understood her. “Are you being serious?”
She responded with a warm smile. “Definitely. Anyone who goes out of their way to assist a child in need is someone I would be thrilled to have on my team.”
As we approached my car, the rain had eased to a light drizzle. She passed me her business card. “Give me a call tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll work something out.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a spark of hope ignited within me. “Thank you,” I replied. “I will.”
The following morning, I woke up feeling lighter than I had in weeks. I shared everything with my mother—losing my job, helping Chelsea, and the potential for a new opportunity. She embraced me tightly, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“I always believed in your potential for greatness, my dear.”
As I punched in Mrs. Stewart’s number, my heart fluttered with anticipation rather than dread.
“Mollie!” Mrs. Stewart’s tone exuded warmth and hospitality. “I’m delighted you reached out. How about joining us for an interview this afternoon?”
A smile unconsciously spread across my face. “I would be thrilled. Thank you for this opportunity.”
“No, Mollie,” she responded, her voice gentle yet appreciative. “Thank you. You saved our daughter. It’s the least we can do.”
As I ended the call, tears welled up in my eyes—this time, tears of happiness.