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My throat tightened as I reached for the object beneath the letter.
It was a cashier’s check.
I stared at the number, convinced I had it wrong.
$5,000.
My breath caught. “This… this can’t be right.”
My manager leaned forward. “It is.”
“I can’t take this,” I whispered. “I don’t even know her.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” he replied. “She explained.”
I unfolded the second page.
My name is Rachel.
I didn’t tell you last night, but I own a logistics company. I started it five years ago after leaving an abusive marriage with nothing but a diaper bag and my son.
I know what it’s like to count coins and pretend you’re okay.
I also know what it’s like to be helped without strings attached.
This isn’t charity. It’s gratitude. And it’s meant to stay with you.
If you don’t want it, use it to help someone else. But please don’t give it back. Let it keep moving.
I covered my mouth.
“All this,” I whispered, “over six dollars?”
I Paid $6 for a Mom’s Baby Formula — The Next Day, My Manager Called Me In and Handed Me an Envelope
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, like the weight of the morning was finally catching up to him.
“Company policy says we can’t interfere with transactions,” he said. “But managers have discretion. And this”—he gestured to the frozen security footage—“wasn’t stealing or favoritism. You used your own money.”
Relief washed over me so fast my eyes stung.
“Then why am I here?” I asked.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a plain white envelope. My name—Amelia—was written neatly across the front.
“This came in about an hour ago,” he said. “The woman from last night came back. She asked for you by name.”
My stomach flipped. “She did? Is she upset? I told her she didn’t need to pay me back.”
“She wasn’t upset,” he said gently. “She was… emotional.”
He slid the envelope toward me. “She insisted this go directly to you.”
My hands trembled as I picked it up. It felt heavier than a normal letter. He nodded, giving permission.
