This past week, my phone rang with a simple request—a mother asking if she could book a one-night rental.

She didn’t want luxury. She didn’t ask about amenities or views. All she wanted was a single day and night with her daughter.

When I asked gently if she might like to stay two nights instead, there was a pause. Her voice grew quieter. “I can’t,” she said. “I can only afford the one night.”

That was it. Every dime she had, she was willing to spend for one full day with her daughter. Not on herself. Not on things. On time.

Later, I shared her story with someone else. And because kindness has a way of circling back, I found myself picking up the phone again—not to take her booking, but to tell her, “Why don’t you come on Wednesday? The second night’s on us.”

Her reaction took my breath away. She cried. She laughed. She thanked me over and over. But the thing that moved me most was this—she wasn’t overjoyed because she got something for free. She was overjoyed because she got more time.

And then she told me why.

She had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She wanted to make as many memories with her daughter as she could—while she still remembered her daughter’s name, her laugh, her face. While she could still hold onto those moments in her mind.

That’s when it hit me. The most valuable gift we have to give isn’t money, or possessions, or even comfort. It’s time. Time to sit together. Time to talk. Time to just be.

Because one day, the people we love won’t be here. Or maybe… we won’t remember.

So take the trip. Make the call. Sit down for coffee. Hug them a little longer.

Because you don’t always get another chance.