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

Ethan handed me my change.

“That was really kind,” he said.

I shrugged. “I’ve been in her shoes.”

He nodded like he understood too well.

Then it was back to regular life.

I went home, made peanut butter sandwiches, broke up three fights, and went to my night shift at the diner.

Honestly, by the next morning, helping her felt like one more small, weird moment in a long blur of survival.

Three days later, someone knocked on my door.

Not a light knock.

A firm, serious one.

I froze with a basket of laundry in my hands.

Knocks like that usually mean trouble.

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