A Price for Kindness
When the owner found out, he was furious. “We’re not a charity!” he shouted. The next morning, I was fired.
Six weeks passed. I searched endlessly for another job but found nothing. My savings were nearly gone, and so was my confidence. Then, one evening, while folding laundry, I found a small envelope tucked into the pocket of my old bakery apron.
Inside was a short letter written in careful handwriting.
“Sometimes kindness costs,” it read, “but it never goes unpaid.”
I stared at the note for a long time, chills running down my spine. There was no signature, but I knew exactly who it was from.
A Door Opens
That same night, while walking through town, I passed a cozy café. Golden light spilled through its windows, and laughter drifted out with the scent of coffee and cinnamon. A sign in the window caught my eye: Help Wanted.
I stood there for a moment, then decided to step inside.
The manager — a woman about my age — greeted me with a warm smile. She didn’t rush me. She listened, really listened, as I explained my experience and how I’d lost my last job. When I mentioned the bakery, her expression softened.
“You’re hired,” she said simply. “We value hearts here, not just hands.”
