I was driving home, lost in my own thoughts when something caught my eye. A young girl, sitting on a school bus, was banging frantically on the back window, her face filled with terror. Everything around me seemed to freeze. A sudden, overwhelming sense of dread washed over me. What could possibly be wrong? A school bus, a place we usually associate with safety… Yet, something was clearly wrong. Without thinking, I sped up and chased after the bus.
It was raining heavily, each raindrop splattering against my windshield as I made my way home. That day had already been a nightmare—first, my fiancé had broken off our engagement, and now, I’d been let go from my job. The weight of everything hit me all at once. My thoughts felt like they were drowning in confusion and anxiety.
“Stay calm, Mollie,” I muttered to myself, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “They say when one door closes, another opens, right?” The words felt empty, though. How could I go home and face Mom with the news of being fired? She would be devastated. Since Dad passed away, she had been my constant support, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her.
My phone buzzed in my hand, interrupting my thoughts. It was Mom. I pulled over and answered.
“Hey, Mom. I’ll be home in about ten minutes. I’m on my way.”
“Mollie, sweetie, have you heard the weather report? There’s a big storm coming. Please be careful driving.”
The storm outside wasn’t nearly as intense as the storm raging inside me.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry.”
But she could tell something was off. “Are you sure? You sound strange.”
“I’m just tired. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Love you,” I hung up quickly, my throat tight.
How was I supposed to tell her the truth? That I’d been laid off for speaking up against some unethical behavior at work? They gave me the usual excuse—“not meeting quarterly targets”—but I knew better.
I muttered to myself as I put the car in gear, “What’s the worst that could happen now?”
Little did I know, I was about to find out.
As I merged back into traffic, I saw it— a yellow school bus rumbling past me. And through the back window, I saw the girl again. Her face was pressed against the glass, her tiny fists pounding, her eyes filled with fear. My heart stopped. Something was wrong.
Without thinking, I hit the gas, tailing the bus as fast as I could. What kind of danger could she be in on a school bus? The situation didn’t add up.
“I’m coming, sweetie,” I muttered under my breath, honking repeatedly, but the bus driver kept driving as though everything was normal.
I panicked. Then, without hesitating, I swerved around the bus, cut in front, and forced it to stop right in the middle of the road.
The driver, a burly man with a thick black mustache, got out and stormed over. “What are you doing, lady? You could’ve caused an accident!”
I pushed past him, ignoring his angry words, and rushed onto the bus. Inside, it was chaos—laughter, shouting, and the kids crowded around the girl.
I ran to the back, where the little girl was sitting alone, tears streaming down her face. Her distress was clear, but what I saw next took me by surprise.
“Oh my God, are you having an asthma attack?” I asked, kneeling beside her. Her chest was heaving, and she was gasping for air.
The girl nodded vigorously, struggling to breathe.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked gently, trying to keep calm.
She pointed to the ID tag around her neck. “Chelsea,” she whispered.
“Okay, Chelsea, we’re going to get you help. Where’s your inhaler?”
Chelsea shook her head. Panic flooded me. The bus driver stood behind me, looking pale and helpless.
“Do you know where her inhaler is?” I asked, desperate.
The driver shook his head, guilt written all over his face. “I didn’t even know she was struggling… It’s so loud back here.”
I didn’t have time for his excuses. I started rifling through Chelsea’s backpack. Nothing. My anxiety spiked as I saw her lips turning blue.
“Help me search!” I shouted at the driver.
We scrambled through the bus, looking everywhere. The other kids were laughing, some even pointing at Chelsea, and it hit me.
These kids were mocking her. They thought it was funny.
“Stop laughing!” I shouted. “She needs help!”
That’s when I realized something. I grabbed the first backpack I could reach, ignoring the protests from the kids.
“You can’t do that!” yelled one boy with freckles.
But I didn’t care. I was searching, and when I finally found the inhaler in a bag, I turned to the boy who owned it.
“Why did you have this?”
The boy mumbled, “It was just a joke.”
“A joke? She could have died!” I snapped, my voice trembling with anger.
I rushed back to Chelsea, helping her use the inhaler. Gradually, her breathing began to normalize, and the color returned to her face. I stayed beside her, reassuring her as she recovered.
The driver stood there, wringing his hands, his face full of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
“You should’ve been paying attention,” I told him, my voice sharp. “These kids are your responsibility. You can’t ignore things like this.”
He nodded, ashamed. “You’re right. I’m so sorry.”
Chelsea looked up at me, her voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”
Those two words struck me deeply. I couldn’t leave her alone now.
“I’m staying with you until we get you home, okay?” I said softly.
She nodded, a small smile breaking through her tear-streaked face.
Turning to the driver, I asked, “I’m going to move my car to the lot. Is it okay if I ride with her?”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “It’s the least we can do.”
When I stepped off the bus to move my car, my hands were shaking. What a day.
Back on the bus, I sat beside Chelsea, my arm around her shoulders, offering comfort. The other kids had grown quiet, realizing the severity of what had happened.
“Why didn’t anyone help you?” I asked Chelsea gently.
Her lip trembled as she whispered, “They think it’s funny when I can’t breathe. They hide my inhaler sometimes.”
My heart broke. “That’s not okay, Chelsea. You understand that, right?”
She nodded, her eyes downcast. “I try to be brave… but sometimes, I’m so scared.”
“You were incredibly brave today, Chelsea,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “You got my attention when you needed help. That took a lot of courage.”
Her small smile returned. “Really?”
“Really,” I said, smiling back. “You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
A couple of stops later, Chelsea pointed out the window. “That’s my mommy and daddy!”
As we got off the bus, her parents rushed over, confusion on their faces.
“Chelsea, who’s this?” her mom asked, her gaze shifting between me and Chelsea.
With newfound strength, Chelsea answered, “This is Mollie. She saved my life.”
Her parents’ expressions shifted from confusion to gratitude to anger. They were furious about the bus driver, the kids, the whole situation.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” her father said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’m just glad I was there,” I replied.
Chelsea’s mother, Mrs. Stewart, insisted on driving me to my car. As we pulled up to the parking lot, the rain started pouring harder.
“So, Mollie,” Mrs. Stewart asked, peering through the rain-splattered windshield, “what do you do?”
I laughed bitterly. “Funny you should ask. I actually lost my job today.”
Mrs. Stewart raised her eyebrows. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I sighed. “I spoke up about some unethical practices at work. They didn’t like that, so they let me go.”
After a brief pause, she spoke again. “You know, my husband and I run a small business. We might be looking for someone. Would you be interested in an interview?”
I blinked, stunned. “Are you serious?”
She smiled warmly. “Of course. Anyone who’d go to such lengths to help a child is someone we’d love on our team.”
As we pulled into the lot, she handed me her business card. “Call me tomorrow, and we’ll set something up.”
I stared at the card in my hand, feeling a glimmer of hope I hadn’t felt all day. “Thank you. I will.”
The next morning, I felt a weight lift from me. I told Mom everything—about losing my job, helping Chelsea, the possibility of a new job opportunity—and she hugged me tightly, proud.
“I always knew you were destined for great things!” she said with a smile.
And as I called Mrs. Stewart’s number later that day, my heart raced—not with fear, but with excitement.
“Hello, Mollie,” Mrs. Stewart’s voice came through warmly. “I’m so glad you called. How would you feel about an interview this afternoon?”
I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. “I’d love to. Thank you for the chance.”
“No, Mollie,” she said, her