The Stranger

A Stranger’s Kindness

When I was young, I moved through the world with fearless trust. I saw people for who they were, offered a hand when they needed it, and believed in the goodness of others. But life has a way of reshaping you, and a contentious divorce, tangled with betrayal and uncertainty, stripped away that innocence. My estranged husband, once a source of comfort, became a stranger I could no longer rely on. Friends, neighbors, even those in uniforms—police, deputies, detectives, car repairmen—wielded their authority in ways that left me bruised, teaching me a hard lesson: trust no one. The world felt like a maze of hidden loyalties, and I was lost in it.

That morning, I had dropped Samuel off at school, still in my pajamas, my mind too heavy to care about appearances. Driving back home on the highway, my car—only four years old—began to sputter, a jarring, unfamiliar sound. I checked the gas gauge; it was fine. No warning lights glowed on the dashboard, not even a nudge for an oil change. I brushed it off, thinking maybe I’d hit something on the road. But within minutes, the sputtering returned, more violent this time, the car jerking as if it were fighting to breathe. I whispered prayers, gripping the wheel, begging to make it home. Half a mile later, the engine gave out. I was stranded on the side of the highway, alone, in see-through pajamas, my vulnerability exposed to every passing car.

I called friends, my hands trembling as I dialed. No one answered. Some were at work, others teaching yoga or volunteering, their lives moving forward while mine crumbled. I didn’t have roadside assistance—why would I, with a car so new? Tears streamed down my face as I sat in the driver’s seat, the weight of the past three months crashing over me. My life had been a relentless storm—everything that could go wrong had. But then, a spark of my father’s voice echoed in my mind: “Come on, Jocelyn, you’ve got this. I taught you a thing or two about cars.”

Wiping my tears, I looked in the rearview mirror, my swollen eyes staring back. “Get it together,” I told myself, mustering what little strength I had left. I stepped out, popped the hood, and stood there in my flimsy pajamas, grinding my teeth as cars whizzed by. Each glance from a driver felt like a judgment, Mitchell’s cruel words looping in my head: “Your weight repulses me.” I tried to focus, checking hoses, tightening clamps, inspecting fluids and belts. Everything looked fine, but the car wouldn’t budge. I was out of ideas, out of hope.

Then I heard the slow crunch of tires on gravel behind me. My heart sank. No makeup, puffy eyes, and pajamas that hid nothing—I felt like a target. I turned, praying, “God, please let this be help, not my undoing.” A man with salt-and-pepper hair pulled up beside me in an old pickup truck. “Ma’am, do you need a ride?” he asked, his voice steady but kind.

I froze, words caught in my throat. I wanted him to be a mechanic, someone who could fix my car and let me disappear. But he saw my fear and spoke again, softer this time. “Ma’am, I can tell you’re scared. I have a wife and a daughter, and I just want to help. No one should be out here alone like this.”

His words cracked something open in me. I took a shaky breath and whispered, “Could you drive me home, please?” He nodded, opening the passenger door. I climbed in, buckled my seatbelt, and stared straight ahead, giving quiet directions to the small in-law suite I was renting. The ride was silent, but it wasn’t heavy—it felt safe, like a moment of grace in a world that had offered me none.

When we reached the locked gate to my driveway, I turned to him, relief flooding my chest. I was home, safe, in one piece. “I don’t have any money to give you,” I said, my voice small, “but if you wait, I can grab some change for gas.” He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. “No need,” he said. “I’m just glad I could help. Keep your chin up, ma’am. Things will get better.”

I stepped out, tears welling again, but this time they weren’t from despair. As he drove away, I whispered a prayer of thanks, certain that God had sent an angel to me in my darkest hour. That stranger, with his quiet kindness, reminded me that goodness still existed, that there were still good men in a world that had seemed so cruel. I never learned his name, but I’ll carry his compassion with me forever—a beacon of hope when I needed it most.

A Mother’s Resilience

Back at home, I scoured the internet for nearby garages, landing on one with glowing reviews and over thirty years in business. They promised to tow my car to their shop and diagnose the problem. With only three hours left to pick up Samuel from school, the ticking clock felt like a vise around my chest. Mitchell would seize any chance to weaponize my struggles against me in our bitter divorce. I had no choice but to call him.

Swallowing my pride, I dialed his work number, my hands trembling. He answered immediately, his voice cold and sharp. I explained the situation—my car dead on the highway, Samuel needing to be picked up. His response cut like a knife: “I no longer have a financial obligation to you.” The line went dead. I stared at the phone, fury and heartbreak colliding. I had hoped for a shred of human decency, but Mitchell had none to give. My world, already crumbling, felt like it was caving in entirely.

Just then, Tracy called back. Hearing the tremor in my voice as I recounted the day, she didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming to get you,” she said. She drove me to the nearest car rental agency, where I filled out the paperwork with shaking hands. The clerk, a young man with a kind face, explained I needed a $250 deposit on a credit card, refundable upon return. I handed him my card, confident it would work. “It’s declined,” he said softly. My stomach dropped. “Try again,” I pleaded. Declined again. I pulled out a second card, one I rarely used. Declined. Tracy’s face flushed with anger, her voice rising as she cursed Mitchell’s name, loud enough for the entire lobby to hear. She hadn’t brought her wallet, only her keys and license, leaving us stranded once more.

Humiliated, I asked the clerk if I could use a phone. He pointed me to the breakroom, where an old rotary phone hung on the wall, its coiled cord a relic of simpler times. I dialed Mitchell again, my voice tight with desperation. I explained the rental, the declined cards, the refundable deposit. His response was a cruel, mocking laugh that echoed through the receiver, igniting a fire in my chest. “Please,” I begged, “put it on your card. It’ll be refunded.” His voice turned venomous. “You better figure it out, Jocelyn, because you’ve got two hours to get Samuel. If you don’t, I’ll tell my attorney you can’t even transport our son, and I’ll take custody.”

Rage surged through me, a mama bear’s roar that echoed through the breakroom and lobby. I didn’t care who heard. How dare he threaten me? How dare he revel in my pain? The young clerk appeared, his voice gentle but firm. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you need to wrap up. You’re not supposed to be back here.” I hung up mid-sentence, apologized, and straightened myself, walking back to the lobby with every eye on me. Tracy, red-faced and fuming, knew Mitchell wouldn’t budge. She had to pick up her daughter from dance class but promised to drop me home first. In her car, I sat in silence, the weight of the day pressing down on me.

At home, the phone rang. It was the mechanic, his voice heavy with regret. “Ma’am, I’ve diagnosed your car, and I’m so sorry.” My mind raced, bracing for an astronomical repair bill. “In thirty years, I’ve never seen this myself, but it happens. Someone poured sugar in your gas tank.” The world stopped. My vision blurred with red-hot anger. It had to be Mitchell. This wasn’t an accident—it was sabotage, premeditated to unravel me further. My car had no lock on the gas cap, an easy target for a cruel, vindictive man. The repair costs were beyond my reach. The mechanic, kind enough to waive his fee, offered to scrap the car. Numb, I agreed.

One hour remained to pick up Samuel. I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. “Why, God? Why?” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Please, help me?!” As if in answer, my phone buzzed. It was Samantha, her voice bright and urgent. “I’m outside your door. Let’s go get Samuel.” She’d heard about my day through mutual friends and acted without hesitation. I rushed out, leaving the door unlocked, and threw my arms around her. “I love you,” I whispered, my voice thick with gratitude. Samantha, who had loathed Mitchell from the start, muttered choice words about him as we drove to the school. She’d always seen through him, even when I couldn’t.

In the car rider line, I spotted Samuel, his small face lighting up with a curious smile as he saw Samantha’s car. I waved out the window, spinning a quick lie about shopping with her to explain the unfamiliar vehicle. He climbed in, oblivious to the storm I’d endured, his chatter about his day at school filling the car with warmth.

A Lesson in Faith

That evening, as the golden light of dusk filtered through our small living room, I sat with Samuel, his small frame nestled against me. My heart was still raw from the day’s trials, but in his presence, I found a quiet strength. I wove the chaos of my day into a story, a gentle lesson about the world’s shadows and its light—about “bad” strangers who hurt, “good” ones who heal, and the God who never abandons us. I told him about the man with salt-and-pepper hair, a stranger in a pickup truck who became an angel when I needed one most, sent to guide me home when I was lost and afraid.

Samuel’s eyes, wide and bright, sparkled with wonder. “I’m happy for you, Mommy!” he said, his voice a melody of innocence. “I know God is all around us.” His words pierced my soul, a reminder of the faith I’d clung to through the storm. “Yes, He is, my love,” I whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace, his warmth anchoring me. My heart swelled with a fierce, unyielding love for him, intertwined with a renewed resilience. In a world that had tried to shatter me with cruelty and betrayal, the compassion of strangers and the loyalty of friends stood as proof that I wasn’t alone. God was real, His presence woven through every act of kindness. For Samuel—my reason, my light—I would keep fighting, no matter how heavy the load.