I Gave $4 to a Tired Mom at the Gas Station – A Week Later, an Envelope Arrived for Me at Work

She came in around 11:30, moving like a prayer—slow, careful, a sleeping boy draped across her shoulder. Hair pulled back, sweatshirt worn thin, eyes hollowed out by a week’s worth of worry. She made a quiet loop through the aisles and placed three things on the counter: milk, bread, diapers. No extras. No indulgences. I told her the total and watched her count crumpled bills twice.

“I’m short by four,” she whispered. “I can put the diapers back.”

I didn’t think. I just reached into my wallet, pulled out four singles, and slid them into the till. “It’s fine,” I said. “Get home safe.”

She didn’t cry. Just nodded, gathered the bag, and walked out. I watched her tuck the boy into a tired sedan and disappear into the dark. Then the station returned to its hum, and I went back to restocking Marlboros, telling myself it was nothing. Four dollars. A small kindness. No story.

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