I was already running late for a meeting, cursing myself for taking the slowest elevator in the building. Just as the doors were about to close, a tiny older woman shuffled in, leaning heavily on a cane. I gave her a polite nod, didn’t think much of it—until the elevator jolted and froze between floors.

Of course, the emergency button didn’t work right away. A muffled voice came on, saying maintenance was “on the way.” No estimate. No apology.

Ten minutes passed. The woman looked like she was struggling to stay upright. She kept shifting, clutching the rail, her breathing growing shakier. I asked if she was okay, and she gave me a tight smile, clearly embarrassed.

I could tell she wouldn’t last much longer standing.

Without thinking it through, I crouched down, motioning for her to sit on my back like a makeshift bench. She hesitated, saying, “Oh no, dear, you’ll hurt yourself.” But I insisted.

There I was, squatting on grimy elevator carpet, her weight gently pressed against me, while we both pretended this wasn’t the weirdest scenario ever.

Fifteen minutes turned into thirty. No updates. My legs started to go numb. She murmured something about how her late husband would’ve done the same for a stranger.

That’s when she reached into her purse, pulling out a crumpled old photo and whispered, “You remind me of him.”

Before I could ask what she meant—or why her hands were trembling so badly—we both heard a loud clang from above.

I felt a surge of hope, but then the elevator went completely dark. We heard fumbling noises from overhead, followed by a few muffled curses. When the emergency light finally flickered back on, I saw the older woman—Lucinda, I later learned—pressing the photo to her heart. She was shaking but put on a brave face, trying to smile at me.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re kinder than you know.”

I shifted my legs to avoid cramping. “It’s nothing,” I told her, though my quads were screaming otherwise. “Let’s just hope they fix this soon.”

Lucinda began telling me about her late husband, whom she called “Mac.” They’d been married for almost forty years. Mac was the type of person who could turn strangers into friends in five minutes flat, always picking up the tab, always offering help—even if it was inconvenient for him. She told me how he once changed a tire for a woman stranded on the side of the road, missing a friend’s wedding reception. “He said it was a more important reception,” she added, chuckling. “The reception of that woman’s gratitude.”

Listening to her stories made me forget—briefly—about my numb legs and sweaty forehead. There was a kind of glow in Lucinda’s face when she spoke about Mac, despite the cramped elevator and her discomfort.

A clank interrupted our conversation, and we both looked up. The muffled voice from before crackled: “We’re trying to reset the lift. It might shake a little.” A second later, the elevator jerked like a carnival ride. Lucinda let out a yelp, and I braced myself to keep her from sliding off my back. Her cane clattered to the floor with a loud clunk.

Then the elevator lurched down a foot or two, metal screeching. My heart hammered. Lucinda’s breath quickened. “Do you think it’s going to drop?” she asked.

“No,” I lied. “It’s safe. They’re just… doing their best.”

In that tense moment, the maintenance voice sputtered again. “We’ve got it partially moving, but the elevator might need to be pried open from the floor below. We need more manpower. Hang on!”

I heard footsteps overhead, then the faint sound of tools being set down. More muffled chatter. Lucinda and I exchanged looks—equal parts relieved and worried.

While we waited, she reached up to pat my shoulder. “You can let me stand for a bit. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m… kinda used to squats at the gym,” I joked, trying to laugh.

Lucinda smiled. “Good. Well, I appreciate it. I’m not exactly spry these days. Arthritis doesn’t make these adventures any easier.” Her eyes flickered back to the photo in her hand. She rubbed the corner gently, like it was something precious that could fall apart at any moment.

“Was that picture taken on a special day?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the sweat building up.

She nodded. “Our 25th anniversary. We celebrated in a tiny beach town, rented a canoe even though we both hated deep water.” Her voice softened. “Mac always convinced me to go on these little adventures. I’d say, ‘I’m too old’ or ‘It’s too dangerous,’ and he’d say, ‘Honey, you only regret the chances you don’t take.’”

As if on cue, the elevator rattled again, dropping a bit more. I pressed my palms into the floor to steady us both. Lucinda clung to my shoulders, letting out a breathy laugh that was part amusement, part fear.

“Guess I’m still going on adventures, even without him,” she said, her voice trembling.

I thought of something supportive to say. “He’d be proud of how brave you are right now.”

She sighed. “Oh, I don’t feel brave. I’m just thankful you’re here. If it were just me… I don’t know if I could make it.”

For a second, I considered standing so she could lean against the wall, but she seemed more comfortable on my back. My legs were jelly, but I’d gotten used to the position, and changing it might send me toppling. The emergency light flickered again, casting strange shadows.

Lucinda’s phone buzzed in her purse. She reached in, but her hands were shaking too much to grab it, so I offered, “Let me hold your purse up for you.” She nodded, pulled out the phone, and squinted at the screen.