The light turned red for the third time. I was two cars back, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, running late to pick up my niece from daycare. Frustration simmered under my skin—until I saw why traffic had stopped.
A police officer stood in the crosswalk, one hand raised to halt cars in both directions. At his side, moving carefully with a cane, was an elderly woman wrapped in an oversized brown coat. She walked slowly, deliberately, like every step was a negotiation with her body. The officer didn’t rush her. Just smiled and stayed by her side until she reached the curb.
That alone might’ve made me cry.
But then she turned.
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