I was sitting at a café next to a very pregnant woman.

At a café, I confronted a woman drinking coffee, assuming she was pregnant and risking her baby’s health. She angrily clarified she wasn’t pregnant, leaving me mortified. The next day, I saw her again—water instead of coffee, looking tired. She invited me over, apologizing for overreacting, and revealed she had fibroids, resembling a six-month pregnancy, and a past miscarriage, likely ending her chances of carrying again. We became friends, sharing pastries and books.

One rainy day, she missed our usual meetup. The barista gave me a note—she was in hospital room 208. Visiting, I learned she was finally removing her fibroids, tired of fear. Post-surgery, she improved, and we grew closer. One evening, she shared a sketch of us, sparking her art revival. She later opened “Second Chances” studio, with my tech support.

A year later, hand in hand at the café, she noted strangers still assumed about her bump. I said she no longer let it define her. Her smile affirmed our bond. Life turned my mistake into a deep friendship—and more—teaching me to pause, ask, and stay kind.