I worked at a sporting goods store in a mall downtown. After 17 years of marriage, two teenagers, and countless late shifts, I thought nothing could surprise me. But life is funny that way.

That day had been particularly rough because holiday shoppers demanded refunds for items they'd clearly worn. Also, a register kept jamming, and my daughter, Amy, had texted me about failing another math test. We'd definitely had to think about hiring a tutor.

All these things were on my mind when my shift ended. Even worse, the temperature had dropped to bone-chilling levels. The thermometer outside the store showed 26.6°F.

The wind howled between buildings, whipping loose papers across the sidewalk as I walked outside. I pulled my coat tighter, dreaming of the warm bath I would set up at home.

On my way to the bus, I saw the shawarma stand that had been there almost as long as I'd worked in the store. It was between a closed flower shop and a dim convenience store.

Steam rose from the grill's metal surface into the warm air. The scent of roasted meat and spices almost made me stop for one. But I didn't particularly like the vendor. He was a stocky man with permanent frown lines.

The food was good, and you could get your shawarma in two seconds, but I wasn't in the mood for any grumpiness today.

But I still stopped when I saw a homeless man and his dog walking up to the stand. The man, who was around 55 years old, looked cold and definitely hungry as he stared at the rotating meat.

The man wore a thin coat, and the poor puppy lacked fur. My heart broke for them.

"You gonna order something or just stand there?" the vendor's sharp voice startled me.

I watched the homeless man gather his courage. "Sir, please. Just some hot water?" he asked, his shoulders hunched.

Sadly, I knew the vendor's response before he even said it. "GET OUT OF HERE! This ain't no charity!" he barked.

As the dog pressed closer to its owner, I saw the man's shoulders slump. That's when my grandmother's face flashed in my mind.

She'd raised me on stories about her harsh childhood and told me that a single act of kindness had saved her family from starvation. I'd never forgotten that lesson, and although I couldn't always help, her words came to mind:

"Kindness costs nothing but can change everything."

I spoke up before I knew it. "Two coffees and two shawarmas."

The vendor nodded and worked at lightning speed. "$18," he flatly said as he placed my order on the counter.

I handed over the money, grabbed the to-go bag and a tray, and rushed to catch up with the homeless man.

When I gave him the food, his hands shook.

"God bless you, child," he whispered.

I nodded awkwardly, ready to hurry to head home and away from this cold weather. But his raspy voice stopped me.

"Wait." I turned and watched as he took out a pen and paper and scribbled something quickly, then held it to me. "Read it at home," he said with a strange smile.

I nodded, stuffing the note into my pocket. My mind was already elsewhere, wondering if there would be any seats on the bus and what I would make for dinner.

***

At home that night, life went on as usual. My son, Derek, needed help with his science project. Amy complained about her math teacher. My husband, Tom, talked about a new client at his law firm.

The note stayed forgotten in my coat pocket until I started gathering clothes for the laundry the next evening.

I opened the crumpled paper and read the message:

"Thank you for saving my life. You don't know this, but you've already saved it once before."

Below the message was a date from three years ago and the name "Lucy's Café."

The clothes I was holding nearly slipped from my hands. Lucy's had been my regular lunch spot before it closed.

And suddenly, I remembered that day clearly. There was a thunderstorm, and many people came into the café looking for shelter.

A man had stumbled in. His clothes were soaked, and a look in his eye told me he was desperate, not just for food. For something else.

No one even looked at him except for me. The waitress almost turned him away, but just like the other day, I'd heard my grandmother's voice.

So, I bought him coffee and a croissant.

I told him to have a nice day and shared my brightest smile. It was nothing special… or so I thought.

It was that same man, and my heart broke again. Clearly, his life hadn't gotten any better, yet he remembered my kindness. But was food once every few years enough?

I couldn't sleep that night with the thought racing through my mind.

The next day, I left work early.