I met Mara at work during one of the worst years of her life—though I didn’t know it then. She sat two desks away from me, always with tired eyes and a phone that buzzed nonstop. She smiled a lot—too much, actually—the kind of smile people wear when they don’t want anyone to look too closely.

I learned she was a single mom after overhearing her on the phone one afternoon, whispering apologies to a daycare worker. She had two kids, both under six. Their father had vanished years earlier, and every late fee, missed shift, and sick day landed squarely on her shoulders.

One Friday, as we packed up to leave, she hesitated near my desk.

“This is awkward,” she said, twisting her badge strap. “But… would you ever consider babysitting? Just on Fridays. I could finally take overtime shifts.”