Every morning before dawn, twenty-nine-year-old Jenny Millers slipped on her worn apron, unlocked the door of Rosie’s Diner, and greeted the quiet dining room with a gentle smile. Nestled between a laundromat and a hardware store in a small Kansas town, Rosie’s had become Jenny’s family after she lost both parents in her teens and watched her only aunt move away. Her days were steady but lonely — until a shy boy began to change everything.
The boy arrived without fanfare at exactly 7:15, settling into the far corner booth with a battered backpack and only a glass of water. He read silently throughout the breakfast rush, never touching the water or speaking. After a week, Jenny quietly placed a plate of fluffy pancakes before him, explaining that the kitchen had mixed up an order. He looked up, whispered “Thank you,” and ate every bite. The next morning, she “accidentally” sent toast; the day after, warm oatmeal. Never once did he ask her name, yet each day he returned, and each day she made sure he had something to eat.
Her coworker Kathy warned Jenny she was wasting her kindness on someone who might be a runaway and disappear as suddenly as he arrived. Her manager Mark grumbled about the cost. But Jenny dipped into her tips — she remembered too well what it felt like to be hungry in more ways than one.
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