My name is Emma, a 35-year-old single mom raising my daughter Lucy while juggling two jobs to keep us afloat. One rainy afternoon, we found an elderly man sitting outside a café, soaked yet quietly holding a small dog. When he mentioned it was his 74th birthday and he hadn’t eaten, something in his tired smile moved me. Lucy and I took him inside, bought him tea, a sandwich, and a slice of chocolate cake. We also brought him some food, dog treats, and a toy before leaving him with my umbrella and warm wishes.
The next morning, I was shocked when the same man appeared at my door—but this time, dressed neatly in a suit with his dog by his side. He introduced himself as Edward and revealed he was not homeless at all, but the owner of the very café we had taken him to. He explained that he sometimes dressed down to understand how people treated those in need. He told me that my kindness had deeply touched him. Then he handed me an envelope.
