“You didn’t stop to think,” he said. “You just helped. You didn’t make it a big thing. You just… saw me.”
“I’ve spent the last few years pretending to have nothing—not to trick people, Ariel, but to understand them. To see who’s still good when no one’s watching. What you did for me… and the chocolate bar…”
His voice weakened. He turned toward Martha.
“You looked like you needed someone to.”
“Are you okay?” I asked gently. “I’m a nurse. Tell me what’s wrong. I can help.”
“It’s time,” he said. “I’m okay. It’s just… my time, honey.”
Martha pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to him. He offered it to me with trembling hands.
“This is for you,” he said. “There are no rules and no strings attached. Just… what I can give.”
“It’s just… my time, honey.”
I stayed until the paramedics arrived. I could have handled the medical part, but legally, I couldn’t declare a death outside the hospital.
They moved gently—checking his pulse, writing notes, folding the blanket back into place. I stood near the window, fingers clasped, trying to absorb it all without breaking.
Something about the moment felt too heavy for quick reactions.
When they announced the time of death, the words felt too clinical for a man who had offered me an envelope only moments earlier. I touched his hand one last time.
“Thank you, Dalton,” I whispered.
Martha walked me out in silence. It was the only fitting language for the moment.
In her car, I held the envelope in my lap. I didn’t open it until we reached my street. Slowly, I peeled it open. I expected a note, something symbolic.
“Thank you, Dalton,” I whispered.
$100,000.
My fingers trembled. Relief surged through me—raw, overwhelming.
Inside, Ara sat cross-legged on the floor with Benjy curled in her lap. Celia looked up from the kitchen counter, one sock half-off, a bowl of noodles in front of her.
“Hi,” she said.
$100,000.
“Hi, babies,” I said, setting my bag down, envelope tucked safely inside. “Come sit. I need to tell you both something.”
I told them about the man at the grocery store, how I’d paid for his food without expecting anything more. I told them about Martha, about his request… about staying with Dalton until the end.
When I mentioned the check, they both stared at me, speechless.
“Come sit. I need to tell you both something.”
“That’s… kind of like magic, isn’t it?” Ara said.
“It is,” I replied softly. “And I want us to do something to honor him tonight.”
“The diner? The themed one?” Celia perked up.
“Wait, what’s the theme for this week?” Ara asked.
Celia pulled out her phone.
“That’s… kind of like magic, isn’t it?”
“Alice in Wonderland,” she announced. “Oh my goodness, I wonder what dishes we’ll find.”
“I hope there’s cinnamon teacake,” Ara said.
“There’ll be plenty of dessert, that’s for sure,” I said, laughing.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt light.
I felt light.
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Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
