I’m Marion, 58, happily married to Rufus for over thirty years. Our two grown children, Jasper and Rose, now have families of their own. That weekend, Rufus attended a dinner honoring his military service. I stayed in for a cozy night—until I realized I was out of groceries.
Grudgingly, I went to the store, which was packed and chaotic. My mood soured further when a burly man nearly rammed my cart, snapping at me to move. He kept crossing my path, then boldly cut in line at the checkout. Just as he finished paying, a security guard stopped him—he’d been caught pocketing batteries.
While he protested, the cashier smiled at me: “Congrats! You’re our 1000th customer—you’ve won a $1,000 shopping spree!” Ironically, that prize would’ve been his if he hadn’t cut. I felt a twinge of compassion despite his attitude. I knew the guard, Dave, and quietly asked him to go easy.
Later, the man—Kevin—offered to drive me home as an apology. On the way, he opened up: divorced, jobless, and fighting for custody of his kids. I shared some of my own ups and downs with Rufus over the years. Twenty minutes after dropping me off, he returned—with flowers and donuts.
