A Cashier’s Kind Gesture and an Unforgettable Outcome

Then her words shifted, deeper and heavier, telling me she had been adopted, that she had searched for her origins, and that my name had appeared beside hers in old records.

Our biological mother’s name was Mary. My mother’s name. The one who once told me, through tears and wine, that she had given up a baby before me.

I read the letter again and again, hands trembling. She wrote that she hadn’t planned to meet me at my register, hadn’t known how to approach me, hadn’t intended to reveal herself that night. But when she saw my name tag and then saw me reach for my own money to help her, she felt certain we were connected by more than paperwork.

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