Leona, the cashier, nodded slowly. “Yeah, I remember them. Sweet couple. Their daughter… Sofia, I think. She had a rare blood disorder. They were always in and out of the hospital.”
“Do you know where they went?” I asked, throat tight.
That night, I sat at my kitchen table with the letter, the photo, and the twenty-dollar bill. I couldn’t keep it—not for myself.
So I bought a children’s book about kindness, tucked the bill and a note inside:
“For someone who needs a little light.”
I left it on a park bench and walked away.
Weeks passed. Life went on. But Sofia’s words stayed with me.
Then, out of nowhere, a message appeared on social media:
“Are you the Emily who paid for our groceries two years ago?”
My heart skipped.Continue reading…
