…IT WAS MY MOTHER’S WEDDING RING!
The one that had gone missing from our house fifteen years ago, the day she passed away. It was unmistakable—a vintage gold band with a tiny, chipped ruby in the center. I had searched for it for years, heartbroken that the last piece of her was gone.
My hands trembled as I turned the ring over. Inside, barely visible, was the engraving: “Forever, J&M.”
I looked up at the woman, tears streaming down my face, and choked out, “Where… where did you get this?”
The old woman smiled sadly. “I found it years ago,” she whispered. “Lying in the dirt at a park. I took it to the police, but no one claimed it. I’ve worn it on a chain around my neck ever since, feeling like I was just keeping it safe for someone. Today, for the first time, I put it on my finger. I think I was waiting for you.”
I insisted on taking her to lunch right then and there. We talked for hours. It turned out she was named Martha, and she had no family left; she had been living in a small shelter and struggling to eat. I was alone too, having never really recovered from losing my parents.
That day, I didn’t just get my mother’s ring back. I gained a grandmother. Martha moved in with me two weeks later.
As for the manager? A quiet call to corporate about his behavior toward an elderly woman—checked against the security footage—ensured he wouldn’t be yelling at anyone again.
I walked into that store for coffee, but I left with a family. Kindness really does find its way back to you.
