The woman on the bus.

The bus stopped,suddenly waking me up from my quick snooze. As usual the morning travellers got on. Right at the back there she was,holding tight the finger of her precious child. She came and sat on the empty spot across from me. I smiled at her, she just looked and didn’t return my smile. I would see her everyday,the same bus,the same time….it was as if nothing ever changed. Her dirty coat frayed at the sleeves, the rip in her boots was hard to hide. The little girl would be holding a tattered toy in one hand and a half eaten cookie in the other. Her clothes very dirty and old. But the face was that of an angel. I did try to engage in a conversation with the child a few times but it seemed like she was even more painfully shy than her mother. The woman’s beautiful big blue eyes seemed to be full of untold stories….stories of life behind closed doors. Some days there was a streak of blue on her usually pale white cheeks and the little girl would just be sniffling softly. Many days passed and I would see this same sight and it would be my train of thought for the entire day. Then one day I saw her hand wrapped in a dirty bandage. I asked what had happened and she painfully answered that it was just a stupid accident. My efforts of trying to converse with her always went in vain. The winter was getting colder and the snow was taking a toll on all of us daily commuters. The woman stopped coming on the bus. I did not see her for weeks together. 
Then,one day I picked up the daily paper from the newsstand at the bus stop. One of the inside pages had a story about a young mother and child……a story that I had expected to read but had never wanted to read. The name of the apartment building was the same as I remembered from the bus. My whole body shuddered while reading the story.
Was I,perhaps to be blamed for this……Could I have done something to prevent it…….perhaps yes I could have. Weren’t the signs enough to tell me about the future???

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