I Paid for Baby Formula for a Struggling Mom of Three – the Next Day, a Soldier Knocked on My Door

That Tuesday afternoon, I had to go to the grocery store. I’d been putting it off for days, but the fridge was empty and surviving on crackers wasn’t working anymore.

The store was crowded and loud. I kept my head down, my coat zipped to my chin even though it was warm inside.

I just wanted to get out.

I was third in line when I noticed the woman ahead of me. Young, maybe mid-20s, wearing a janitor’s uniform with a name badge that read “Allison.” Her hands were full.

A toddler sat in the cart crying. A preschooler clung to her leg. A baby squirmed in a carrier strapped to her chest.

She was trying to count coins from her wallet, her face flushed, her hands shaking as she held up a single can of formula.

The cashier waited, expressionless.

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