It was just past 7 PM on a rainy Thursday when I pulled over on the side of Maple Avenue to help a woman whose car had stalled.
The night was busy with the usual traffic slowdown, streetlights casting reflections on the wet pavement.
I didn’t think twice about stopping—just a small kindness in a tough week.
“Need some help?”
She stood outside, umbrella in hand, her coat already soaked.
Her hesitation was palpable, a slight step back as I approached.
“Uh, yes, I think so,” she replied.
The way she held herself, arms wrapped tightly against the chill, struck me as odd.
There was a quiet unease in her eyes that I couldn’t place at the time.
The rain slipped down my face as I fiddled with the engine.
