Woman Sells Vintage Stroller at Flea Market — Not Knowing the Buyer Would Find This

Bethany Collins

As they walked, Louise explained softly, “Beth’s memory comes and goes. Some days she’s sharp, others less so.” Megan nodded, guilt pricking hard. She should have visited years ago. Yet, despite her fear, she pressed on. They stopped before a door at the hallway’s end, a silver plaque reading Bethany Collins. Louise smiled gently. “She always mentions a young woman who gave her hope. We believe she meant you.” Megan nearly broke.