I was driving home, lost in thought, when something unusual caught my eye—a little girl on a school bus, banging on the back window with a look of terror. My heart froze. What danger could possibly threaten a child on a school bus? I couldn’t just ignore it. I had to find out, so I pressed on the gas and followed the bus, a sinking feeling growing in my chest.

The rain was coming down hard, matching the turmoil in my mind. Today had been rough—my fiancé had broken off our engagement just last week, and now, to top it off, I had just been laid off from my job. It felt like the universe was conspiring against me.

“Stay calm, Mollie,” I muttered to myself, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Things will get better. When one door closes, another one opens.” But it was hard to believe my own words. How was I supposed to tell Mom I’d lost my job? She’d worry herself sick, especially after losing Dad. She had always been my rock, and I didn’t want to add to her burden.

My phone buzzed for the fifth time. It was Mom again. I pulled over and answered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m driving right now.”

“Mollie, have you seen the weather report? There’s a big storm heading your way. Please be careful, honey.”

I could barely swallow the lump in my throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” I replied, knowing full well that the storm inside me was much worse than the one outside.

As I got back on the road, that same yellow school bus rumbled past again, and this time, I saw it clearly—a little girl in the back window, crying and pounding on the glass. Her face was streaked with tears, her hands frantic. Something was terribly wrong.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. Without thinking, I hit the gas, determined to catch up to the bus. What kind of danger could this child be in? I honked my horn, desperate to get the driver’s attention, but he seemed completely unaware of what was happening behind him.

I made a split-second decision, swerving my car in front of the bus and forcing it to stop in the middle of the street. The driver stormed out, furious. “What the hell are you doing, lady? You could’ve caused a serious accident!”

Ignoring him, I ran onto the bus. The noise was deafening—children laughing and shouting, oblivious to the girl’s distress. I rushed to the back and saw her, face red, struggling for air. My heart sank.

“Are you having an asthma attack?” I asked, kneeling beside her. She nodded, her breathing shallow. I frantically searched her backpack for an inhaler but found nothing. Panic clawed at me.

“Where’s her inhaler?” I shouted to the driver, who had followed me onto the bus.

“I didn’t know she was having trouble,” he stammered, looking pale. “It’s so loud back here, I didn’t hear anything.”

I bit back my frustration and started searching through the other kids’ backpacks. In the third bag, I found it—a small blue inhaler with her name on it. I handed it to her, guiding her to take a few puffs. Slowly, her breathing steadied, and the color returned to her face.

The driver stood there, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, I sat down beside the little girl. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Chelsea,” she whispered.

“Well, Chelsea, you’re safe now,” I said, holding her hand. As we waited for her stop, she told me the other kids thought it was funny to take her inhaler, leaving her in a dangerous situation.

Two stops later, Chelsea’s parents were waiting. They rushed over, clearly confused. After I explained what had happened, their anger turned to gratitude.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Chelsea’s dad said, tears in his eyes. Her mom insisted on driving me back to my car, and as we drove, she mentioned their family business was hiring. It was an opportunity I never saw coming.

As I sat in my car afterward, I realized that maybe things were turning around. Life has a funny way of opening doors when you least expect it.