I’ve worked as a manager for almost six years now, and during that time, I’ve always believed I was being fair. Some might say I’m strict, and maybe that’s true, but I always thought my approach was reasonable. Rules exist for a reason, and I’ve always told myself that if I start making exceptions, things get complicated. Where do you draw the line? That’s exactly what I thought when I made the decision to let one of my employees, Celia, go just last week. She had been late again, for the third time this month. And at our company, the policy is clear—three strikes and you’re out. So when I called her into my office to talk about her repeated tardiness, I expected some sort of explanation or excuse. Instead, she simply nodded, grabbed her things, and quietly left. I thought I was doing what was best for the team, following the rules I was hired to enforce. But later that same day, I overheard a conversation that made me realize I might have made the biggest mistake of my career.

Two coworkers were chatting in the break room. I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, but their words caught my attention. “Did you hear about Celia’s son?” one of them asked. “Yeah,” the other replied softly. “She’s been living in her car with him.” My stomach dropped. My mind raced as I tried to process what I was hearing. Celia had been evicted from her apartment weeks ago. Her ex had abandoned her and their son, leaving her with no financial support and no family to turn to. For the past few weeks, she and her six-year-old boy had been living out of her car. And the reason she was late for work? Every morning, she had to drive across town to a church where they could take a shower before she dropped her son off at school and headed to work. I felt like the worst person in the world. I hadn’t fired an irresponsible employee—I had turned my back on a mother who was doing her best just to survive.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her that night. I lay awake, going over everything in my head, realizing how blind I had been to what was happening right in front of me. I had been so focused on enforcing the rules that I forgot to see the person behind them. The next morning, I called her number. It rang, but she didn’t answer. I sent her a text, hoping she would respond. Still, nothing. But I wasn’t going to give up that easily. I started calling shelters, food banks, and churches in the area. Most of them couldn’t give me any information for privacy reasons. But finally, one woman at a downtown church hesitated when I mentioned Celia’s name. “She was here two nights ago,” she told me. “She picked up some food and blankets.” It wasn’t much to go on, but it gave me a glimmer of hope.

I spent the rest of the day driving around, checking parking lots and places where I thought she might be. I was about to give up when I saw an old, beat-up sedan parked at the back of a grocery store lot. The windows were fogged over, but I noticed movement inside. I approached the car and gently knocked on the window. After a moment, Celia sat up in the driver’s seat. Her eyes were wary as she recognized me standing there. Her face went blank, like she was bracing herself for whatever bad news I might bring. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. “Please, let me help.” I told her she could have her job back, no conditions attached. But I wanted to do more than that. I explained that my cousin managed an apartment complex and had a vacant unit. He was willing to waive the deposit and let her move in immediately. I also knew about a few assistance programs that could help with food and childcare. She looked at her son in the back seat, then back at me. I could see her hands trembling as she whispered, “Okay.”

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind. My cousin got her and her son into the apartment that same day. My company approved a small pay raise to help her get back on her feet, and I used every connection I had to get her enrolled in assistance programs for food and childcare. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start. One afternoon, Celia came into my office. She stood there quietly for a moment before saying, “I just wanted to say thank you. Not just for the job—but for seeing me.” For the first time, I saw a genuine smile on her face, one that reached her eyes.

That night, I sat in my car thinking about how close I had come to making an unforgivable mistake. It’s easy to get so caught up in following policies and rules that you forget about the human stories behind them. Everyone is dealing with something, and sometimes people just need someone to care enough to listen. If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s that kindness should never come with conditions. And sometimes, doing the right thing means breaking the rules.