Watching me fight for my life, she said, gave her hope that her mom might survive too. Then she reached into her pocket. “I need to give you this.”
She placed a necklace in my palm—the one I’d been wearing the night of the crash.
My grandmother’s necklace. I’d thought it was gone forever. Tiffany had found it and kept it safe, afraid it would be lost.
I cried then. I hugged her, held her, and thanked her for a kindness she’d shown while carrying her own unbearable grief. In the darkest time for both of us, our paths crossed.
Over the years, I became something like a mother to Tiffany. We still keep in touch. She visits when she’s in town.
And every time I smile, I remember the quiet girl who sat with me when no one else could—and changed my life with simple, unwavering kindness.
