Even after thirty years, those words remain etched in my memory. That one cold, gray evening in 1995 changed my life forever.
It was an especially grim winter. I stood at the bus stop, shivering and daydreaming about a hot cup of tea and the comfort of my favorite chair at home.
“Marina, waiting for the last bus again?” my neighbor Zinaida Petrovna called out.
“What else can I do?” I smiled. “No money for a taxi.”
As she walked away, I noticed a woman in a shabby coat nearby, holding a toddler. Our eyes met. I saw something in hers—fear, desperation, maybe both.
“Please hold her for a moment,” the woman said suddenly, pushing the child toward me. “I just need to run to the newsstand…”
