I PAID FOR A STRANGER’S GROCERIES TWO YEARS AGO—AND TODAY, I GOT THIS IN THE MAIL

It came without a return address—just my name, written in delicate cursive on a plain envelope. The handwriting didn’t ring a bell.

Inside: a folded note and a twenty-dollar bill, taped down with a single strip of clear tape.

The letter began:

“Miss Emily, You may not remember us…”

And truthfully? I didn’t. Not right away.

But as I read, the memory stirred—first faint, then vivid. A family at the grocery store. A weary mother and father. A baby fussing in the cart. The sound of their card being declined. The cashier’s impatient sigh. And me, instinctively reaching for my debit card.

I had said, “It’s fine. Just let them go.”
A moment. Nothing more.

But to them, it was everything.

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