I looked around. No one was there.
Confused, I got up and walked toward the washer I had used. The machine was closed, and through the glass door I saw something unexpected—things I knew I had not put inside.
My hands trembled as I opened the washer door and picked it up.
“For you and your little girl. — J.”
Just that. No explanation. No request. Only kindness.
I stood there for a long moment, letting the reality sink in. A stranger—someone who had noticed my tired eyes, my worn uniform, the way I held Willow close—had quietly helped while expecting nothing in return.
When I carried everything home, my mother gasped at the sight.
“There are still good people in this world,” she whispered, touching the note as though it were something fragile.
I placed it on the fridge with a sunflower magnet. It stayed there, reminding me every day that we were not alone.
A week later, after another long shift, I came home to find a wicker basket on our doorstep. Inside were groceries, baby food, oatmeal, bananas, pasta—simple things that make life easier. A second note rested on top:
