I was seven months pregnant when an elderly woman boarded the crowded bus. Every seat was occupied and no one moved, so I stood and offered her mine. My back already hurt, but watching her struggle to remain steady felt worse than standing for a few stops. She accepted without saying much. During the ride she kept looking directly at me with an expression I could not understand. When her stop arrived, she squeezed my hand, slipped something heavy into my coat pocket, and disappeared through the doors before I could react.

Inside my pocket was an antique gold locket. I opened it and found a tiny photograph of a young pregnant woman who looked remarkably like me. On the other side was a folded note containing a phone number and one sentence: “Please return this when your baby arrives.” Curiosity eventually made me call. The woman who answered explained that the elderly passenger was her mother, who had recently begun experiencing memory problems. The photograph showed her late daughter, who had died many years earlier while expecting her first child. Apparently, seeing me on the bus had brought that memory rushing back.