p class=”ContentRenderer_paragraph__B2z36″ style=”text-align: initial;”>The subway was packed with the usual chaos.

People were rushing to work while the street musician did his thing in the corner. I was exhausted after a long shift, lost in thought, when my eyes landed on him.

At first, I wasn’t sure why he looked familiar.

His face was hidden beneath a scruffy gray beard, and he was wearing tattered clothes. His shoulders were slumped forward as if life had worn him down.

As I walked toward him, my gaze landed on something very familiar.

A tattoo on his forearm.

It was a small, faded anchor that immediately reminded me of the day I got lost in the woods.

I looked at the tattoo then back at the man’s face, trying my best to remember if it was really him. The only way I could confirm it was by talking to him.

And that’s what I did.

“Is it really you? Mark?”

He looked up at me, trying to study my face. I knew he wouldn’t recognize me because I was just a child the last time he saw me.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check.

“You saved me. Thirty years ago. I was eight years old, lost in the snow.

You carried me to safety.”

That’s when his eyes widened in recognition.

“The little girl…” he said. “In the storm?”

I nodded. “Yes.

That was me.”

Mark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

I sat down next to him on the cold subway bench.

“I never forgot what you did for me.” I hesitated before asking, “Have you been… living like this all these years?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he scratched his beard and looked away.

“Life has a way of kicking you down. Some people get back up. Some don’t.”

At that point, my heart broke for him.

I knew I couldn’t just walk away.

“Come with me,” I said. “Let me buy you a meal. Please.”

He hesitated, his pride keeping him from accepting, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Eventually, he nodded.

We went to a small pizza place nearby, and the way he ate told me he hadn’t had a good meal in years.

I blinked back tears as I watched him. No one should have to live like this, especially not someone who once gave everything to help a lost little girl.

After dinner, I took him to a clothing store and bought him warm clothes. He protested at first, but I insisted.

“This is the least I can do for you,” I told him.

He finally accepted, running a hand over the coat as if he had forgotten what warmth felt like.

But I wasn’t done helping him yet.

I took him to a small motel on the outskirts of the city and rented a room for him.

“Just for a while,” I assured him when he hesitated.

“You deserve a warm bed and a hot shower, Mark.”

He looked at me with something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite comprehend. I think it was gratitude. Or maybe disbelief.

“You don’t have to do all this, kid,” he said.

“I know,” I said softly.

“But I want to.”

The next morning, I met Mark outside the motel.

His hair was still damp from the shower, and he looked like a different man in his new clothes.

“I want to help you get back on your feet,” I said. “We can renew your documents, get you a place to stay long-term. I can help.”

Mark smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes.

“I appreciate that, kid. I really do. But I don’t have much time left.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

He exhaled slowly, looking out toward the street. “Doctors say my heart’s giving out. Not much they can do.

I feel it, too. I won’t be around much longer.”

“No. There has to be something—”

He shook his head.

“I’ve made peace with it.”

Then he gave me a small smile. “There’s just one thing I’d love to do before I go. I want to see the ocean one last time.”

“Alright,” I managed to say.

“I’ll take you. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

The ocean was about 350 miles away, so I had to take a day off from the hospital. I asked Mark to come over to my place the next day so we could drive there together, and he did.

But just as we were about to leave, my phone rang.

It was the hospital.

“Sophia, we need you,” my colleague said urgently.

“A young girl just came in. Severe internal bleeding. We don’t have another available surgeon.”

I looked at Mark as I ended the call.

“I—” My voice caught.

“I have to go.”

Mark gave me a knowing nod. “Of course you do. Go save that girl.

That’s what you were meant to do.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But we’ll still go, I promise.”

He smiled. “I know, kid.”

I rushed to the hospital.

The surgery was long and grueling, but it was successful. The girl survived. I should have felt relieved, but all I could think about was Mark.

As soon as I was done, I drove straight back to the motel.

My hands trembled as I knocked on his door.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I asked the motel clerk to unlock the door.

When it opened, my heart shattered.

Mark was lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. He was gone.

I stood there, unable to move. I couldn’t believe he was gone.

I had promised to take him to the ocean.

I had promised.

But I was too late.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as tears streamed down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry for being late…”

***

I never got to take Mark to the ocean, but I ensured he was buried by the shore.

He’s gone from my life forever, but one thing he has taught me is to be kind. His kindness saved my life 30 years ago, and now, I carry it forward.

In every patient I heal, every stranger I help, and every problem I try to solve, I carry Mark’s kindness with me, hoping to give others the same compassion he once showed me.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes.

Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Source: amomama