On a chaotic Halloween morning, a quiet act of kindness bound me — a tired art teacher — to a little girl who needed more than a costume.
Years later, that bond would return to change both of our lives in ways neither of us could have imagined.
It was Halloween morning, and the school auditorium shimmered with glitter, plastic tiaras, and superhero capes. Laughter filled the room — wild, bright, and just on the edge of chaos.
I was forty-eight then — middle-aged, slightly gray at the temples, still clinging to my “cool art teacher” title for dear life. The kids were buzzing on sugar and excitement, proudly showing off their costumes and hungry for attention. We’d turned the stage into a haunted art gallery — neon jack-o’-lanterns, glitter-glued haunted houses, and skeletons with googly eyes. I was standing on a ladder adjusting a crooked paper bat when I saw her — Ellie. She didn’t walk into the room so much as fade into it, like a shadow slipping under a…
