On a busy street, a pregnant woman suddenly stopped. She swayed, clutched her belly, and slowly sank to her knees. Passersby stepped aside, but no one came closer.
— Here comes the drama, someone mumbled in the line outside a café.
— Maybe she’s just dizzy, said another.
— Or another scammer, scoffed a woman in a coat as she took out her phone to record.
No one moved. Only I stepped forward. Not because I knew what to do — I just couldn’t stand by and watch. Her face was pale as paper, her lips trembling.
— Are you okay? I asked, kneeling beside her.
She couldn’t speak. Labor? Fainting? Pain? I didn’t know. Behind me I heard:
— He’s probably going to rob her and then play the hero.
— Hey, you! Don’t touch her, idiot! Maybe she has something contagious!
Everything in the waiting room spun.
Doctors rushed over. Minutes felt like hours. Then a doctor approached:
— You got her here just in time. The woman had a uterine rupture. We’re taking her into surgery immediately. Without you, she wouldn’t have survived. The baby either.
I stood frozen. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs.
Two days later, I went to her hospital room with flowers, just to share her joy. But when I entered, the woman started to cry.
— You… you don’t understand… she whispered. — This is my fifth child. The other four died in the womb. This one… is the only one who made it. I had already said goodbye. But you… you’re an angel.
I sat beside her. The baby was asleep in the cradle. A girl. Pink, warm, alive.
— What did you name her? I asked.
Through tears, the woman smiled:
— Hope. After you.
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