She walked into the bakery one rainy afternoon—soaked, expectant, and clearly exhausted.
“Please,” she murmured, “just a loaf of bread.”
She didn’t have any money, but something in her eyes made me reach for the warmest loaf on the shelf. She smiled faintly, placed a simple hairpin in my hand, and said softly, “You’ll need this one day.”
The owner saw what happened. He wasn’t touched.
I was fired before my shift ended.
I kept the hairpin anyway, though I couldn’t explain why. It felt meaningless—until six weeks later, when I slipped my hand into the pocket of my old apron and found a folded note tucked inside.
It was from her.
Just one line: “Sometimes kindness costs, but it never goes unpaid.”
