**Diary Entry November 12th**
It was a chilly autumn evening, the road nearly deserted. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the occasional car sped past, eager to reach home. Inside my car, the silence was broken by my five-year-old daughter Emilys frantic cry from the backseat.
“Mum, stop!” she shouted, her princess dress shimmering under the headlights. “Theres a man lying down over therehes hurt!”
At first, I thought shed imagined it. The roadside was dark, no signs of smoke or movement. But Emily, sniffling, kept insisting, “Hes fallen. He needs help. Please, Mum, pull over.”
Uneasy, I slowed down and steered onto the verge. Seconds later, we spotted hima man slumped beside his overturned motorbike, unconscious, his breathing faint and ragged.
“Good Lord,” I muttered, dialling 999.
Emily, meanwhile, dashed closer. She tugged off her thin jumper and pressed it to his wound, her small hands tremblingnot from fear, but determination.
“Hold on, mister,” she whispered. “The grown-ups are coming to help.”
The paramedics arrived sooner than expected. One gently touched Emilys shoulder. “Sweetheart, well take care of him now, all right?”
She nodded but clung to the mans hand a moment longer, as if afraid hed slip away without her.
Later, at the hospital, the doctors confirmed that those first crucial minutesEmilys quick thinkinghad saved his life.
Days passed before the man woke. His first request? To meet his little rescuer. When Emily walked into his room, he struggled upright and murmured, “Thank you. You gave me a second chance.”
From that day, our lives changed. The mans friends visited Emily, bringing toys and books, cheering at her school plays, even throwing a small parade in her honour at the village square. She welcomed them all with lemonade shed helped me make.
She and the man grew close. Hed often drop by just to chat, sometimes joining her on rides down our quiet streether on her pink bicycle, him walking beside her.
Word spread. Some called it luck; others marvelled at a childs instincts. But those whod been there knew the truth: that night, Emily showed real courage.
Months later, fully recovered, the man invited us to his home. Over tea in his garden, we talked about how one random stop on an empty road had changed so many lives.
Now, looking back, I smile when he says, “Sometimes help comes from where you least expect.”
Emily, a little taller now, replies, “You just have to believe small acts mattereven if youre small yourself.”
Not all angels have wings. Some wear sparkly dresses and have the heart to help.
*Sometimes the bravest thing is to stop when no one else does.*
