But because I wasn’t used to being asked something so simple… and yet so difficult at the same time.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “I think we do.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly, like she had been holding her breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I packed up what we had left—some bread, a bit of chicken, whatever hadn’t been thrown away yet—and handed it to her.
She held the bag carefully.
Not like it was food.
Like it mattered.
“God bless you,” she said, almost under her breath.
Then she turned and walked out into the night.
And just like that…
She was gone.
The next morning, I came in early.
Same routine. Same place.
Nothing felt different.
Until I noticed something sitting on the counter.
An envelope.
No name.
No stamp.
Just… placed there.
At first, I thought maybe someone forgot it.
But when I picked it up, I felt something inside.
Something thicker than paper.
I opened it.
And for a second… I just stared.
Inside was cash.
More than I made in a week.
My first instinct was confusion.
Then suspicion.
Then something else… something I couldn’t quite explain.
There was also a note.
Handwritten.
Simple.
“I didn’t want to take without giving something back. You helped me when I had nothing. I won’t forget that.”
I read it again.
And again.
Because it didn’t make sense.
Why would someone who asked for leftovers… leave behind money like this?
