Gladis had always believed that people were mostly kind. Living in a quiet neighborhood where everyone seemed to know each other, she felt safe walking to the small park every afternoon. It was her favorite place—a peaceful corner filled with tall trees, chirping birds, and the laughter of children playing nearby.
One sunny afternoon, Gladis noticed a group of teenagers gathered near her usual bench. They were loud, joking, and filming each other with their phones. At first, she paid them no attention. Teenagers would be teenagers, she thought. But as she sat down and began reading her book, their attention slowly turned toward her.
Their whispers grew into mocking comments. They laughed at her old-fashioned hat, her careful way of speaking, and even the way she carried her worn leather bag. One of them boldly stepped closer, pretending to trip near her just to startle her. Another recorded the moment, capturing her frightened reaction.
Gladis felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She tried to ignore them, hoping they would lose interest. Instead, their behavior escalated. They circled her bench, tossing small pebbles near her feet, daring each other to get closer. What began as careless fun for them felt like humiliation and fear for her.
Finally, one teen grabbed her bag and tossed it to another before running off laughing. Though they dropped it a few moments later and ran away, the damage was done. Gladis sat frozen, her heart pounding.
It wasn’t just the teasing or the brief scare that hurt. It was the realization that trust—her simple belief in the goodness of strangers—could be so easily broken. That day, Gladis walked home more slowly than usual, carrying not just her bag, but a heavy sense of disappointment she had never known before.
