I Gave a Woman $6 to Help Pay for Baby Formula – the Next Day, My Manager Called Me over the Intercom and Handed Me an Envelope

It was almost 11 p.m., 10 minutes to closing. The store was half-dark, aisles quiet, that hum of the refrigerators louder than the music.

My feet hurt, my patience was running low, and I was already planning what sad snack I’d eat before bed.

Then she stepped into my lane.

Early 30s, maybe. Hair in a messy bun, hoodie that had been washed a hundred times, cheap leggings, old sneakers.

She had a baby strapped to her chest in a soft wrap, his cheek mashed against her collarbone.

She gave me a tired, polite smile.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re our last customer. Lucky you.”

“Lucky is not the word I’d use.

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