I went to Charleston for a peaceful pottery retreat—just me, some clay, and a break from my quiet post-retirement life. But one small act of kindness changed everything.While walking through the historic district, I let a young woman with a crying baby use my phone for ten seconds. She made a cryptic call—“It’s moving. One hour. You know where.”—then vanished down a side street.Two days later,
police showed up at my hotel door. The woman, Eliza, never made it to a meeting with them. Turns out, she was part of an ongoing federal investigation. My phone call? The last trace they had of her.I thought it ended there—until the night before I left,
when I found an envelope under my door.Inside was a handwritten note: “Thanks to you, the truth got where it needed to go. I’m safe. He’s safe. I’ll never forget you.” And $2,000 in cash.I came to shape clay,
but ended up shaping something far bigger. Sometimes, the smallest act of kindness becomes the turning point in someone else’s story.And this time, it mattered more than I could’ve imagined.