I Paid for a Struggling Grandma at the Grocery Store – Three Days Later, the Clerk Came to My Door with Her Final Request

Then I noticed the woman at the front of the line.

She was small. Old. Wrapped in a coat so worn the cuffs were almost strings.

Her back was curved, like life had been pushing down on her for years.

She put two items on the conveyor.

Bread.

Milk.

That was it.

The male clerk — dark hair, tired eyes, name tag said ETHAN — scanned them and relaid the total to her.

She opened a tiny wallet and started counting.

Coins. A few wrinkled bills.

Her hand shook.

After a second, she paused.

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