Over time, our lives intertwined. Visits, shared soup, borrowed courage. When winter hit and my hours were cut, Nura sent me €300 without hesitation, insisting I let her help. It didn’t solve everything, but it steadied me in a way I badly needed. Months later, I cheered her into culinary school, proud of how far she’d come and grateful for the friendship that had grown from a cardboard box and a moment of instinctive kindness.
Now our daughters call each other cousins, and we’re planning a small trip by the coast. The crocheted duck travels between our homes like a quiet blessing. Whenever I hesitate to respond to someone’s small request, I think of Nura—and how generosity, even tiny, can tilt a life back toward hope.
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