Seven months pregnant, I offered my bus seat to an old woman who stared intently at me. As she left, she slipped house keys with a sunflower keychain into my pocket. The keychain read “Luci” and an address: 9 Mercer Lane. Despite my boyfriend Dorian’s dismissal, her gaze haunted me. Two days later, I visited the run-down cottage. The keys worked, and inside, a note awaited: Lucinda Wynn, who knew my late mother, left me the house, paid off, for my baby and me. I moved in, finding community support, and painted again. After my
daughter Mira’s birth, a lawyer confirmed Lucinda’s will granted me the house, with a photo of her with my mom and me. Dorian distanced himself, but I thrived. Lucinda’s presence lingered in the house, offering a second chance I never expected. Each morning, I thank her—not just for the home, but for showing that strangers can become unexpected allies. Life, once a struggle, now holds hope, proving kindness from an unknown friend can reshape your future.
