This is a story that could surely be retold with different characters and settings, yet it feels familiar to nearly everyone. It’s a story about compassion. The fairy-tale opening, “Once upon a time, there was a boy,” fits perfectly here. Because there was indeed a boy, though his life wasn’t exactly joyful. His parents cared for him, but they rarely read to him, never told him bedtime stories, and his mother never once sang him a lullaby. All he knew as a preschooler was the television. But the TV showed a different world. In reality, he lived without friends. Quiet …

Shouting across the basement, the housing office manager nearly strained his voice. — How long do I have to look for you? Stephen, stop slacking off. You need to clean up the yard at 15th Court. The leaves are piled so high people will soon be swimming in them. Grabbing a broom and shovel, the janitor trudged to the assigned address, muttering under his breath, cursing his boss. Stephen had been a janitor at this housing office for five years and had never once let his supervisors down. But lately, people noticed an odd sluggishness in him. It seemed like …

Mary was 45 years old. Some of her friends looked years younger. They took care of themselves: visited beauty salons, swam at the pool, hit the gym, and watched their diets. Appearance was their top priority. The same couldn’t be said for Mary. At 18, she married Nick. She didn’t feel deep love for him. Six months later, he proposed, and the young couple tied the knot. At first, Mary didn’t notice how different they were. Nick loved spending his free time partying with friends—never without alcohol—and found home life boring. Mary, however, was refined and educated, unable to sleep …

Meeting the delivery truck, Vanessa directed the movers where to carry the cement, paint, and other building supplies. While the weather was still warm, she decided to fix up her old house. It desperately needed attention—the foundation was settling, and the roof had been leaking since last autumn, though patched slate kept the rain at bay for now. Just then, her neighbor approached. — Hey, Vanessa, still fussing with that shack? You’re spinning like a hamster on a wheel. Knowing her neighbor wouldn’t leave easily, Vanessa asked directly: — Did you want something, or just here to chat? — Straight …

— Hi, Sophie! — chirped a little girl, darting out of her apartment ahead of her mother. In her hands, she clutched a tiny toy train and a colorful bucket brimming with sand molds. — Hi, Vicky! Hello, Anna! — replied the young woman opening the door to the neighboring apartment. She juggled three bulging bags, clearly struggling with the lock. — Oh, what’s all this? Planning a feast or building a whole sandcastle fortress? — she asked with mock curiosity, crouching down to inspect the bucket’s contents. — Yes! A feast! And castles! Mom’s taking me to the park. …