I watched Walter and Pickles disappear into the snow and told myself it was just one small kindness. Nothing more.
The next morning, I arrived early to open the diner. The city was quiet, the sky still gray. As I reached for my keys, I froze.
There was a white envelope taped to the front door.
My name was written on it in shaky blue ink.
My keys slipped from my hand when I saw who it was from.
Inside the envelope was a simple note and a check.
The amount made my knees buckle.
Walter had passed away overnight.
The note explained everything — that Pickles was safe with a friend, that Walter had once owned several properties before life unraveled, and that he’d sold the last one recently. He wrote that he had no family left. He wrote that my kindness had reminded him of who he used to be.
I sat down right there on the diner steps and cried until the cold seeped into my bones.
That check saved my diner.
But more than that, it saved me. Continue reading…
