The Next Day
The morning after, I was called to the manager’s office. My heart sank — I thought I’d done something wrong.
But when I opened the door, there she was. The same woman.
Only this time, she wasn’t in heels or a designer coat. She was in jeans, hair pulled back, holding a bouquet of daisies.
“I came to pay you back,” she said quietly.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to.”
But she insisted. “Please. Let me.”
She handed me the cash, along with a folded note. Later, when I opened it, it read:
“You didn’t just pay for my groceries.
You reminded me that kindness still exists — and that maybe I can be better, too.
Thank you, Sarah.
— Claire.”
