I Gave My Last $100 to a Shivering Old Woman in a Wheelchair – The Next Morning, She Was Waiting for Me in a Black Luxury Car

I didn’t think about bills or what I had left in the bank.

She told me small things between bites: she had no family or visitors, just winters that kept getting colder.

Her name was Margaret, she said. Or maybe Martha.

I was so tired I’m not even sure I heard it right.

At one point, she reached across the table and patted my hand. Her eyes met mine as if she saw something I didn’t even know was showing.

And that broke me a little.

Because nobody had said that to me in so long. Nobody had looked at me and seen past the uniform and the exhaustion to the person underneath who was barely holding it together.

I blinked back tears and tried to laugh it off.

“We all carry something, right?”

She squeezed my hand gently. “Some carry more than their share.”

Before I left, I reached into my bag and pulled out my last $100.

But in that moment, keeping it felt wrong. Like something I couldn’t live with.

I placed it in her hand, and she looked at it like it was glowing.

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