Her eyes filled with tears. Then, reaching up, she removed a small hairpin from her hair and pressed it into my hand. “You’ll need this one day,” she said softly.
Before I could protest, she was gone.
A Price for Kindness
I left with nothing but my apron, the faint smell of flour still clinging to it, and the tiny hairpin the woman had given me. I didn’t know why I kept it — maybe because it reminded me that kindness, even when it costs us something, is never truly wasted.
Six weeks passed. I searched endlessly for another job but found nothing. My savings were nearly gone, and so was my confidence. Then, one evening, while folding laundry, I found a small envelope tucked into the pocket of my old bakery apron.
Inside was a short letter written in careful handwriting.
“Sometimes kindness costs,” it read, “but it never goes unpaid.”
