**Diary Entry A Cold Mornings Kindness**
The frosty morning air bit at my cheeks as I steered the bus along the familiar route between the quiet village of Bramley and the bustling town of Wessex. The roads were slick with a thin layer of ice, shimmering under the pale winter sun like scattered sugar. Theres something about mornings like thesethe world feels hushed, as if time itself has slowed.
Ive been driving this route for twenty years. Every bend, every pothole, I know them like the back of my hand. Its not much to look atjust a stretch of tarmac between two placesbut to me, its home. The bus was nearly empty today. A couple of students lost in their headphones, an old man flipping through a newspaper, and a young couple dozing against each other in the warmth of their coats. Routine. Predictable.
Then I saw her.
A woman, standing at the roadside, not waving, not even looking up. Just waiting. Her dark coat was too thin for the cold, and in her arms, she cradled something bundled in a scarf. At first, I thought it was a baguntil I got closer. A child. A boy, his face pallid, his breath shallow.
I rolled down the window. You alright, love?
She hesitated, as if surprised anyone would stop. I need to get to the hospital, she said softly. My sonhes poorly. I couldnt afford a taxi the bus wasnt coming.
I didnt think. Just opened the door.
She climbed in carefully, as if afraid the boy might shatter. The other passengers glanced up but said nothing. Thats the way of things herepeople keep to themselves. But I could feel their eyes on her, wondering, judging.
Im Emily, she murmured after a while. Thank you. I didnt know what else to do.
I nodded. Dont mention it.
The drive to Wessex General felt longer than usual. Every minute stretched. When we finally pulled up outside A&E, I stopped right at the entrance. Go on, I told her. Ill wait.
She looked stunned. Youd do that?
Course I would.
The passengers filed out without complaint, scattering to cafés or the pavement. I stayed, sipping tea from my flask, thinking about how life has a way of circling back. Years ago, my wife fell ill in the middle of winter. A stranger drove us to hospital in his old Rover. Never asked for a thing.
Emily returned an hour later, relief softening her face. They gave him medicine. Hell be alright.
Good, I said, and meant it.
She tried to refuse when I offered to drive them home. Youve done enough.
Nonsense. Its on my way.
The boy, now awake, watched me with wide eyes. Thank you, mister, he whispered as they left.
Months later, I saw them again at the same stop. Emily handed me a small bageggs, milk, things from her garden. For you, she said. You helped us when we needed it.
I tried to wave it off, but the boy piped up again, louder this time: Thank you, sir.
That was all the payment I needed.
Kindness costs nothing. But sometimes, it comes back when you least expect it.
