I was on my way home when I noticed a little girl on a school bus, frantically banging on the back window, clearly terrified. It was as if time stood still. Something was horribly wrong. But what danger could there be on a seemingly safe school bus? I immediately followed the bus to find out, and my heart skipped a beat.
The rain hammered my windshield as I drove, each drop matching the weight in my chest. It felt like the worst day of my life. My fiancé had broken off our engagement last week, and today, I lost my job. My thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and emotion.
“Stay calm, Mollie,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “There’s always another way. When one door closes, another opens, right?”
But those words rang hollow. How could I face my mom and tell her I was laid off? She would be so worried. Ever since my dad passed, she had been my rock, and I never wanted to disappoint her.
My phone buzzed again—Mom. I pulled over and answered.
“Yeah, Mom, I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’m driving…”
“Mollie, honey, did you hear the weather forecast? A storm is coming. Please drive carefully.”
I swallowed hard. The storm outside felt minor compared to the one brewing inside me.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll be there soon.”
“Is everything okay? You sound different.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Just… tired. I’ve got to focus on driving, okay? Love you,” I said, hanging up before my emotions could take over.
How could I tell her I lost my job simply for standing up to management? They’d used the excuse of “not meeting targets,” but I knew the real reason.
“What’s the worst that could happen now?” I muttered, putting the car back in gear.
Little did I know, I was about to find out.
As I merged into traffic, a yellow school bus passed me, and something in the back window caught my eye—a little girl, her face pressed against the glass, her tiny fists pounding in desperation. She was crying out for help.
“Oh my God… what’s going on?” I gasped.
Without thinking, I sped up to catch the bus. The child was clearly in distress, but what danger could she be in on a school bus?
“I’m coming, hold on, sweetie,” I mumbled, honking my horn.
The bus driver seemed oblivious, continuing down the road. Panic rising, I made a quick decision, swerving around the bus and cutting in front of it, forcing it to stop.
The driver stormed out, furious. “What’s your problem, lady? You could’ve caused an accident!”
I ignored him, rushing onto the bus. The noise hit me like a wall—kids crowding around the girl, laughing and shouting.
I ran to the back, where the little girl sat, alone, her face tear-streaked and red. My heart sank. This wasn’t what I expected.
“Oh my God, are you having an asthma attack?”
The little girl nodded, struggling to breathe. I knelt beside her, trying to stay calm.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked, my voice shaking.
She pointed to an ID card around her neck. Her name was Chelsea.
“Okay, Chelsea, we’re going to get you help. Where’s your inhaler?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. I looked up at the driver, who was standing there, pale.
“Do you know where her inhaler is?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even realize she was in trouble. It’s so noisy back here.”
Frustration built inside me as I began searching through Chelsea’s backpack. Nothing. Panic gripped me as I saw her lips start to turn blue.
“Help me look!” I shouted at the driver.
We checked everywhere—under the seats, in the aisle. Meanwhile, other kids were laughing, some even pointing at Chelsea.
“This isn’t funny!” I yelled. “She needs help!”
That’s when I had an idea. I started grabbing all the backpacks, ignoring their protests.
“Hey, stop!” a freckle-faced boy yelled.
I found it in the third backpack I searched—a blue inhaler with Chelsea’s name on it. I spun around, facing the boy who owned the bag.
“Why do you have this?”
He looked away, muttering, “It was just a joke.”
“A joke? She could’ve died!”
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.
The driver stood by, wringing his hands. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”
I turned to him, fury rising. “You’re responsible for these kids! You should’ve checked when you heard a commotion!”
He nodded, embarrassed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Chelsea tugged at my sleeve. “Thank you.”
Her words hit me harder than anything else that day. I couldn’t leave her now.
“I’m staying with you until we get you home, okay?”
Chelsea smiled weakly, nodding.
I turned to the driver. “I’m going to move my car and ride with her. Is that alright?”
He nodded quickly. “Of course. It’s the least we can do after everything.”
As I stepped off the bus to move my car, I noticed my hands shaking. What a day this had turned out to be.
Back on the bus, I sat beside Chelsea, my arm around her. The other kids were unusually quiet now, the seriousness of what had just happened sinking in.
“Why didn’t anyone help you?” I asked gently.
Chelsea’s lip quivered. “They think it’s funny when I can’t breathe. They hide my inhaler sometimes.”
My heart broke. “That’s not okay, Chelsea. You know that, right?”
She nodded, looking down. “I try to be brave, but sometimes I get so scared.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “You were incredibly brave today. You got my attention when you needed help. That takes a lot of courage.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Really?”
“Really. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”
A couple stops later, Chelsea pointed out the window. “That’s my mommy and daddy!”
As we got off the bus, Chelsea’s parents rushed over, confusion on their faces.
“Chelsea, who’s this?” her mother asked.
Chelsea, her voice stronger now, said, “This is Mollie. She saved my life.”
After Chelsea explained what happened, her parents’ expressions shifted from confusion to gratitude, and then to anger at the bus driver and the other kids.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Chelsea’s father said, his voice breaking.
“I’m just glad I could help.”
Chelsea’s mother, Mrs. Stewart, insisted on driving me back to my car. When we arrived at the parking lot, the rain poured down.
“So, Mollie,” Mrs. Stewart said, glancing at me through the rain, “what do you do?”
I laughed bitterly. “Funny you should ask. I actually lost my job today.”
Mrs. Stewart raised her eyebrows. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I sighed, recounting the events of the day. “I spoke out about some unethical practices, and they used ‘not meeting targets’ as an excuse to let me go.”
Mrs. Stewart was quiet for a moment. Then, she said, “You know, my husband and I run a small business. We might have an opening. Would you be interested in an interview?”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard correctly. “Are you serious?”
She smiled. “Absolutely. Anyone who would go to such lengths to help a child is someone I’d like to have on my team.”
As we pulled up to my car, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. Mrs. Stewart handed me her business card.
“Call me tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll set something up.”
I held the card tightly, hope sparking in my chest. “Thank you. I will.”
The next morning, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. I told Mom everything—about losing my job, saving Chelsea, and the potential opportunity.
She hugged me tight, pride shining in her eyes. “I always knew you were meant for great things, darling!”
As I dialed the number on Mrs. Stewart’s card, my heart raced—this time, with excitement instead of fear.
“Hello, Mollie,” Mrs. Stewart’s voice was warm on the other end. “I’m so glad you called. How would you feel about coming in for an interview this afternoon?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’d love to. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
“No, Mollie,” she said, her smile evident in her voice. “Thank you. You saved our daughter. This is the least we can do.”
As I hung up the phone, I felt tears prick my eyes. But this time, they were tears of joy, not sorrow.
