After her divorce, my best friend had nowhere to go—so I opened my home to her. I knew she needed support, and I was happy to help. All I asked in return was one thing: to watch my 3-year-old son while I worked my 9-to-5 job. She agreed with a smile, and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, knowing he would be in caring hands.
Weeks passed, and I watched her slowly regain her footing. She still carried the scars of her past relationship, but she brought warmth, laughter, and calm to our household. I never imagined that one afternoon, she would teach me a lesson in kindness I would never forget.
One day, I came home earlier than usual. The house was unusually quiet. My son was nowhere to be found. Panic surged as I rushed from room to room, calling his name. My heart raced. Had he wandered outside? Was he hurt?
Then I turned to my friend, and she looked at me calmly. “You can now… breathe,” she said.
Confused and still worried, I hesitated. My chest tightened with fear—until I heard it: soft laughter drifting from the backyard.
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