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As we reached the sidewalk, someone touched my sleeve. It was the server, slightly out of breath. She leaned in and whispered, “I wasn’t honest.” Before I could ask what she meant, she slipped a receipt into my hand and hurried away. Confused, I unfolded it and saw one word written clearly beside the total: Paid. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Someone—perhaps the server, perhaps another guest—had quietly covered the bill. There was no announcement, no expectation of thanks, just a simple act meant to spare a stranger discomfort.
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