Monday started heavy.

We had just said goodbye to my aunt—a woman who had been the heart of so many of our family gatherings. As we walked away from her final resting place, the grief weighed on all of us. But the day wasn’t over.

That same afternoon, my daughter was discharged from the hospital after undergoing brain surgery. We should have been celebrating her strength, her survival. But instead, we were running on fumes—emotionally, physically, spiritually. Our hearts were raw, our bodies tired.

And then, as if the universe hadn’t thrown enough at us, the car broke down.

It happened in a terrible spot—wedged between the chaos of I-95 South and Route 1, surrounded by honking horns and impatient drivers. The engine died, and with it, our last bit of strength. We were stuck, overwhelmed, and uncertain what to do next.

Eventually, we got towed and found ourselves in a hotel in Christiana for the night. My daughter, just out of surgery, needed rest. All I could think about was how I’d get her home, how I’d hold everything together. It felt like the world had crumbled under our feet.

The next morning, running on little sleep and too much worry, I was out in the parking lot trying to fix the serpentine belt myself. I had no choice. Checkout was looming, and we needed to be on the road.

That’s when he showed up.

His name was Donta. A stranger. Just passing through. But he saw me—saw the exhaustion, the frustration, the quiet panic. He didn’t ask a million questions or hesitate. He simply walked over, offered his tools, and said, “Let me help.”

I didn’t know whether to cry or hug him. But what I do know is that at that moment, he became more than just a helpful passerby. He became our angel.

Donta jumped right in, figuring things out like he’d been working on our car his whole life. While the minutes ticked down toward checkout, and my daughter rested inside, he made sure we’d be able to leave safely. Not because he had to. But because he cared.

He gave us what we desperately needed: kindness, hope, and the ability to move forward.

Thanks to Donta, we got back on the road that day. My daughter got home to continue her recovery. And our family—battered and grieving—was reminded that even in the darkest hours, light finds a way to shine through.

If anyone knows Donta, please tell him he made a difference. A big one. He didn’t just fix a car. He helped heal a family.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you, Donta.

God bless you, sir.