I Bought Two Cupcakes for a Crying Little Girl in a Café – Days Later, I Opened My Door and Froze

“I’m so sorry,” the father said, his voice breaking.

An angel. I almost laughed. Almost cried.

I’d spent the last hour feeling like a criminal.

The officer turned to me. “You’re free to go. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I stood on shaky legs.

The adrenaline was draining out of me, leaving behind exhaustion and relief and a weird kind of anger I didn’t quite know what to do with.

As I stood to leave, the café owner touched my arm.

“You reminded him that good people still exist. That matters.”

Does it? I wanted to ask.

Does it matter when kindness gets you interrogated? When helping a child makes you a suspect?

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