When she came up to the counter, she set everything down gently and shifted the boy’s weight on her shoulder. He stirred a little but didn’t wake up. I scanned the items and told her the total.
“Fourteen seventy-two,” I said.
She dug through her purse with one hand, her face getting more and more tense. I watched her pull out crumpled bills, count them twice, then look up at me with eyes that were starting to glisten.
“I’m short by four dollars,” she whispered. “Can I… can I put the diapers back?”
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I didn’t even think about it. The words just came out.
“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
She froze, staring at me like she didn’t quite believe what she’d just heard.
“It’s late,” I said softly, pulling four singles out of my own wallet and putting them in the register. “Just get home safe, okay?”
For a second, I thought she might cry right there. She nodded quickly, grabbed the bag with her free hand, and hurried out into the cold night. Through the window, I watched her clutch that little boy tight as she got into an old sedan that looked like it had seen better days.
Then she was gone, and the station went quiet again.
The next week passed like all the others. I worked my shifts, came home tired, and tried to help Lydia with dinner when I could stay awake long enough. We didn’t talk much about money anymore because there wasn’t much point. We both knew the situation, and talking about it just made it feel heavier.
It was the following Thursday when my manager, Mr. Jenkins, called me into his office. He’s a decent guy in his mid-50s.
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“Ross, did you cover someone’s groceries last Friday night?” he asked, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.
My mind raced. Had I broken some rule? Were they going to make a big deal out of four dollars?
“Yeah, I did,” I said, feeling my face get warm. “I’m sorry if that was against policy. I paid for it myself, I put my own money in the register—”
He held up his hand and shook his head. “No, no, that’s not why I’m asking.” Then he reached behind him and picked up a white envelope. “This came for you this morning. Addressed to you by name.”
He handed it to me, and I just stared at it. My name was written on the front in neat handwriting.
“Go ahead and open it,” Mr. Jenkins said, watching me with curious eyes.
My hands felt clumsy as I tore open the envelope.