That afternoon, the boy arrived earlier than usual. His name was Daniel, and I finally convinced him to tell me everything. His mother had died after that hospital emergency. He had been only eleven, frightened, and completely alone. Margaret had stayed with him long after her shift ended. She found him a blanket, brought him food, and listened while he talked about his mother. Daniel never forgot her kindness. Years later, he recognized her outside the hospital and discovered where she bought coffee. He wanted to thank her, but couldn’t find the courage.

“Why didn’t you simply tell her?” I asked.

Daniel looked embarrassed. His mother had taught him that genuine kindness deserved no payment. He explained that buying Margaret coffee was his small way of remembering the nurse who had treated him like family when his world fell apart. I promised to keep his secret, but neither of us knew that Margaret had already started asking questions about him.