As I drove home in the pouring rain, my heart felt as heavy as the stormy sky above. Today was one of the worst days I could remember—first, my fiancé had called off our wedding, and now I had just lost my job. The weight of everything was suffocating, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control.
“Stay calm, Mollie,” I whispered to myself. “When one door closes, another opens, right?” But my words felt hollow, like they were bouncing off the walls of my mind without any impact. How could I go home and tell Mom that I’d been laid off? She’d worry herself sick. Ever since Dad passed, she’d been my rock, and now I was going to let her down.
My phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time—it was Mom again. I pulled over to the side of the road, the rain streaking down the windows, and answered. “Hey, Mom, I’ll be home in about ten minutes.”
“Honey, the weather looks awful. Please be careful,” she urged, her voice filled with concern.
I swallowed hard, feeling the lump in my throat. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one raging inside me. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to sound steady. “See you soon.”
I hung up, feeling the ache in my chest grow heavier. As I merged back into traffic, something caught my eye—a school bus passed by, and in the back window, a little girl was banging frantically, her face pressed against the glass, tears streaming down her cheeks.
My heart skipped a beat. “What on earth…?” Without thinking, I slammed my foot on the gas, racing to catch up with the bus. Fear gripped me as I wondered what kind of danger a child could be in on a school bus. I honked my horn again and again, but the driver didn’t seem to notice. I had no choice—I swerved in front of the bus, forcing it to stop right there in the middle of the road.
The driver, a big man with a thick mustache, jumped out of the bus, furious. “Lady, what’s your problem? You could’ve caused an accident!” he shouted.
I ignored him and pushed past, running onto the bus. The noise hit me like a wave—kids laughing, shouting, completely unaware that one of them was in trouble. I rushed to the back, where the little girl sat alone, red-faced and struggling to breathe.
“Oh my God, are you having an asthma attack?” I asked, kneeling beside her, panic rising in my chest. The girl, Chelsea, nodded frantically, gasping for air. “Where’s your inhaler?” I asked, 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…”
I felt frustration and anger boiling inside me as I started rummaging through Chelsea’s backpack—nothing. Her lips were starting to turn blue. I shouted for help, but the other kids just laughed, thinking it was some kind of game.
Then it clicked in my mind—I grabbed the backpacks of the kids sitting around her, ignoring their protests. After digging through 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 down at his feet.
“A joke? She could have died!” I snapped, not wasting another second. I rushed back to Chelsea and helped her use the inhaler. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and color returned to her face. I held her hand, whispering comforting words as she calmed down.
The bus driver stood there, wringing his hands. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea…”
I shot him a sharp look, my anger barely contained. “You should’ve checked when you heard something was wrong. These kids are your responsibility!”
Chelsea tugged at my sleeve, her voice soft but clear. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Those two words hit me harder than anything else that had happened that day. I wasn’t going to leave her alone after this. “I’m staying with you until we get you home, okay?” I promised.
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, my arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The other kids, now quiet, seemed to finally understand the seriousness of what had happened.
“Why didn’t anyone help you?” I asked gently.
Chelsea looked down, her lip trembling. “They think it’s funny when I can’t breathe. They hide my inhaler sometimes,” she admitted, her voice breaking a little.
My heart ached for her. “That’s not funny, Chelsea. That’s bullying, and it’s not okay,” I told her firmly.
She nodded, still staring at her hands. “I try to be brave, but I get so scared,” she said.
I squeezed her shoulder. “You were brave today. You got my attention, and you saved yourself. That’s real courage.”
A tiny smile appeared on her face. “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!” she exclaimed.
As the bus came to a stop, Chelsea’s parents rushed over, looking confused and worried. “Chelsea, who’s this?” her mother asked, eyeing me.
Chelsea smiled, her voice stronger now. “This is Mollie. She saved my life.”
After Chelsea explained what had happened, her parents’ faces changed from confusion to 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 honestly.
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 over 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. “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,” I explained.
She was quiet 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, not sure if I’d heard her right. “Are you serious?” I asked, almost afraid to hope.
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. “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 new start filled me with a sense of hope I hadn’t felt in a long time. Mom had been 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.
