She Remembered What Everyone Else Forgot

One day, I handed her a cheese sandwich and lied, “I’m not hungry.” She hesitated, then took it. The next day, I brought more. My mom never asked questions. Amy always said thank you in a voice so soft it barely reached the air.

She was quiet, but brilliant — funny, creative, and kind. She once drew a pencil sketch of us on the swings. I kept it tucked in my notebook for years.

Then, one Monday, she was gone. No goodbye. No explanation. The teacher said she’d moved, but wouldn’t say where. I wrote letters and left them at the office. Weeks later, I received a package with every letter I’d sent and a note in Amy’s handwriting: “Thank you for being there when no one else was.”

That was the last I heard from her.

Until twelve years later.

I’d just come out of surgery, groggy and cold in a hospital bed. The nurse walked in — hair pulled into a bun, name tag swinging from her scrubs. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

Then she smiled and said, “You’re going to be okay. I promise. You helped me once, and I’ve never forgotten.”

I froze. “Amy?”Continue reading…