“Sure.”
“Is it okay to not like your mom?”
My chest tightened. I took a moment before answering. “Yeah.
Sometimes people hurt us, even when they’re supposed to love us. It doesn’t make you bad for feeling that way.”
He looked relieved, like I’d just unlocked a secret code. We chatted for a few more minutes.
He told me his mom worked nights and got angry a lot. He didn’t have many friends at school. He liked drawing, especially rockets and dogs.
And he had a pet rock named Felix. “Felix?” I laughed. “That’s a great name.”
He grinned.
“He listens better than most people.”
Micah became a regular. Every Saturday, he’d show up around noon, either with a crumpled dollar, a soda cap to trade, or just to talk. Sometimes he brought me drawings.
Once, he gave me a paper crown that said, “Best Store Queen.”
The other employees started noticing. “Brie’s got a little shadow now,” Alina joked once. I didn’t mind.
Truth was, those few minutes with Micah each week became the highlight of my shift. But it didn’t stay sweet forever. One Saturday, Micah didn’t come.
Or the one after that. I tried to tell myself he was just busy, maybe visiting family or had soccer practice. Three weeks passed.
I started checking the door every time it chimed. Then one rainy Thursday, I saw him. But not in the store.
I was on the bus heading home, when I spotted him through the fogged window. He was walking fast, wearing a too-thin hoodie, soaked from head to toe. There was a bruise under his eye.
Without thinking, I rang the bell and jumped off the bus. “Micah!” I called. He froze.
When he saw me, his lips quivered. “You okay?” I asked, walking toward him. He looked down.
“I ran away.”
My stomach dropped. “From home?”
He nodded. “She hit me… hard this time.
I was scared.”
I knelt in front of him, the rain dripping off my hair. “Do you want me to take you somewhere safe?”
He didn’t speak, just nodded again. I took him to my aunt’s.
She was a retired nurse with a heart of gold and a sixth sense for when someone was hurting. She made Micah tea, wrapped him in a blanket, and called child services. Micah didn’t go back home that night.
Or the next. Turns out, there’d been multiple reports about his mom—neglect, anger issues, and one case that had been dropped due to “lack of evidence.”
This time, there was evidence. The bruise.
His statement. And, I later found out, a teacher who finally spoke up. Micah was placed with a foster family just outside town.
I was told I couldn’t visit for a while, not until things were sorted. It crushed me. I went back to work, missing our balloon chats.
But I kept my phone close, just in case. One month later, I got a letter. From Micah.
“Dear Brie, I miss you. I have a dog now. His name is Felix Two.
He listens good. My foster mom is nice. She makes pancakes with smiley faces.
Thank you for saving me. I told my teacher you’re my hero. One day I’ll come back and give you a real crown.
Love, Micah.”
I cried in the breakroom for ten minutes straight. The store changed after that. Customers still complained, kids still whined, balloons still popped.
But I held my head higher. A year later, I was working part-time while taking classes. Life was busy, better.
I hadn’t heard from Micah in months. I hoped that meant he was doing well. Then, on a bright spring afternoon, a woman walked into the store with a young boy.
I recognized him instantly. “Brie!” he yelled, running toward me. He was taller, healthier.
His hair was neater, and his eyes sparkled. The woman introduced herself as his adoptive mom. She thanked me.
She said Micah still talked about “the balloon lady” who rescued him. “I didn’t really do that much,” I said, suddenly shy. “You listened,” she said.
“And you cared. That’s more than most.”
Micah handed me something. A paper crown.
But this one was laminated, colored in gold, with glitter and stickers. It read: “Best Store Queen Forever.”
I wore it the rest of the day, even when Alina rolled her eyes. Later that night, I thought about everything.
How a tantrum from a rude woman turned into the moment I met Micah. How a free balloon became a bridge between two strangers. How sometimes, the smallest acts ripple out in ways you can’t imagine.
We don’t always get to choose the people who cross our paths. But we do choose what we do with those moments. So if someone ever throws a balloon at you—literally or figuratively—maybe that’s just the beginning of something bigger than you can see right now.
Life has a funny way of rewarding kindness. Sometimes it takes days. Sometimes years.
But it never goes unnoticed. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. If it moved you even a little, give it a like, or share it.
Maybe someone out there needs to hear that they can make a difference—even if it’s just handing a balloon to a kid who needed one more than you knew.
