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

I still stand under those humming lights. Still mop up spilled soda. Still memorize the barcodes of gum. The roller grill still clicks its stubborn little rhythm. But now, when the door chimes and someone walks in cradling a problem they can’t afford, I remember:

Goodness moves like water—quiet, steady, shaping more than we know.

Sometimes it looks like a check for $5,000.

Most of the time, it looks like four dollars and a sentence.

Get home safe.