Chapter 25: Help From the Unexpected
Mary had long given up the idea that anyone would truly rescue her. She had learned to rely on herself—on prayer, on her notebook, on quiet strength. But sometimes, help comes when we least expect it, and from those we never imagined.
It began with a man named Mr. Tumba, a quiet, elderly tailor who worked on the corner near the market where Mary sometimes sold food for her aunt. He never spoke much, but he had noticed her.
He noticed how she stood respectfully, even when insulted. How she helped customers with grace, never asking for thanks. How her eyes, though tired, were still bright with something deeper.
One day, after watching her struggle with a heavy food tray, he called out softly, "Come."
Mary hesitated. Her aunt had warned her never to talk to strangers. But there was something in his tone—gentle, steady, not commanding, not threatening.
"I've seen you," he said, handing her a bottle of cold water. "You remind me of my daughter, God rest her soul."
Mary blinked, unsure of what to say.
"Take it," he said. "It's just water."
She took it and thanked him. That was all.
But the next day, he gave her a sweet. Then the next, he invited her to sit in the shade for a minute before heading back home.
He never pried, never pushed. Just talked. About life. About how he once walked barefoot to school too. About how strength is sometimes hidden in the quietest children.
One day, he looked at her and said, "You're meant for more than this. Do you know that?"
Mary nodded slowly, eyes wide.
Then came the question that changed everything.
"Would you like to learn how to sew?"
She'd never thought of it. But the idea filled her with light. A skill. A trade. A chance.
"Yes," she said, quietly but surely.
And so, under the soft humming of a sewing machine in a dusty corner of the market, with threads of kindness and stitches of care, an unexpected door began to open.
Mary was still in chains—but someone had just handed her a key.