Three days later, a plain envelope arrived at my door. No return address. My name was scrawled on the front.
Inside was a note:
“Thank you for your compassion. I tried to find you but couldn’t. I hope this helps.”
Attached to the back was a cashier’s check for $5,000.
I stared at it for a long time, unsure if it was real. It was—watermark and all.
Who was he? Why would he do this?
I called the store to ask if the man had returned, but no one knew. My former manager said, “You’re not allowed back, remember?” and hung up.
I was hurt. I’d worked there nearly a year without missing shifts. I smiled even when exhausted.
After two days of job hunting and instant noodles, I finally applied everywhere because rent was due.
One morning while waiting for the bus, I saw him again. He sat across the street, quietly feeding birds buttered rolls.
Same tan coat. Same calm presence.
I crossed the street and sat beside him. He didn’t seem surprised.
“You got the envelope,” he said softly.
“I did,” I replied. “You didn’t have to.”
He chuckled. “Maybe not. But do you think kindness deserves nothing in return?”
I asked his name.
“Lawrence. People used to call me Larry. Not heard that in a while.”
We talked for about an hour—about the weather, birds, and soup recipes. He said he was an accountant, had a late wife, no kids, and a small pension nearby.
When I asked about the money, he said something I’ll never forget:
“I was blessed in an unusual way. People often think blessings mean money or things, but sometimes it’s having enough and the willingness to share.”
I wanted to honor his gift. I paid two months’ rent and enrolled in caregiver training at a community center—I’d always liked helping people.
A month later, my teacher called.
“Someone’s been asking about you,” she said. “An old man left this card.” It was from Rosewood Pines, a retirement community nearby.
I visited the next day. The receptionist smiled, “You must be the one Mr. Lawrence talks about.”
He was there, playing chess under a tree. “You came,” he said. “I hoped you would.”
He introduced me to staff and said I’d be a great volunteer. Soon, I was helping out twice a week—serving meals, playing cards, listening to stories.
Patricia, a staff member, told me about a part-time activities assistant role. I applied—and got it.
Six months later, thanks to a connection made by a fellow volunteer, I landed a full-time job with benefits and a bus pass through a home care agency.
All because I helped a man buy some apples.
I returned to my old grocery store a few weeks into my new job. My former manager was shocked.
“Oh, hey,” she said.
I smiled back. “Hey.”
I almost said something petty but didn’t. Maybe it was Larry’s words in my mind. Maybe it was peace.
She didn’t apologize but said, “Didn’t think you’d land on your feet so fast.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes life pushes you where you need to be.”
As I left, I saw a teenage cashier quietly covering a customer’s short change from her apron pocket.
I smiled at her.
She smiled back, maybe a little unsure.
And the world kept turning.
Larry and I still meet once a week for tea in the park. He says I remind him of his wife, who used to bring home stray pets and strangers.
Sometimes, I bring him apples.
He always grins like pure gold.
What did I learn?
Doing the right thing might cost you at first—but it always pays off, often in ways you never expect. Sometimes you have to let go of what’s familiar to find your true path.
If this story touched you, share it with someone who needs hope. Remember—kindness matters.