I miscarried in a bar bathroom, terrified and alone because my boyfriend, Joe, wouldn’t answer his phone. A waiter found me, carried me to his car, and stayed beside my hospital bed for hours, holding my hand so I wouldn’t have to face everything alone. He was a complete stranger, yet in the darkest moment of my life, he was the only person who showed up for me.

Then my phone buzzed with a photo of Joe. The waiter suddenly went pale. He stood up and whispered, “I know him. I can’t stay,” before walking away. When Joe finally arrived, I told him what had happened. His face turned red when he realized who the waiter was: a man he had fired the previous year and whose career he had deliberately damaged.

I expected Joe to become defensive, but instead he broke down. Seeing that the person he had once hurt was the same person who had shown me compassion when I needed it most completely changed him. For the first time, Joe was forced to confront the kind of person he had become and the consequences his actions had on others.

Joe spent the next month trying to find the waiter. When he finally did, he gave him a glowing professional recommendation and a substantial consulting payment to help him rebuild his career. Then Joe told me, “I spent years being a bad person, and it took a stranger’s kindness to show me how small I really was.” Sometimes the people we hurt can teach us the lesson we most desperately need to learn.