My grandma was the cheapest woman in the world. After she passed away, I inherited a $50 gift card.
I was going to give it away, but for some reason, I decided to use it. My life split into ‘before’ and ‘after’ that moment. The cashier’s face went pale when I handed her the card.
Cashier: ‘This can’t be, where did you get this??’
Me: ‘Uh… It was my grandma’s.’
Cashier: ‘STOP EVERYONE! IN FRONT OF US!’
The world seemed to freeze. Conversations halted, carts stopped rolling, and a heavy silence fell over the store. My heart started to pound in my chest. People around me stared, their expressions ranging from curious to confused. I gripped the counter, unsure whether to stay or bolt out the door.
The cashier motioned to her manager, who quickly made her way over. She whispered something to her, her eyes never leaving the gift card in my hand. The manager, a middle-aged woman with kind but sharp eyes, looked at the card and then at me.
“Where exactly did you get this?” the manager asked, her tone careful but firm.
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple. “I told her—it was my grandma’s. She passed away recently, and this was among her belongings. Is something wrong?”
The manager glanced at the cashier, who nodded, and then she leaned closer, speaking in a hushed tone. “This isn’t just any gift card. This card has… a very specific history.”
I blinked, unsure how to respond. “What kind of history?”
She hesitated before responding, “Can we step into my office for a moment? I think it’s better if we talk there.”
Now, a mix of anxiety and curiosity consumed me. I nodded and followed her, clutching the gift card tightly in my hand. People whispered as I walked past, but I barely noticed them. All I could think about was how my grandma, the frugal woman who saved buttons and reused wrapping paper, could have left me something that warranted this kind of reaction.
The manager’s office was small but neat, with stacks of papers and a photo of her family on the desk. She gestured for me to sit, and I did, my hands trembling slightly.
She sat across from me, folding her hands. “Your grandmother’s name?”
“Margaret Harper,” I replied. “Why?”
The manager’s eyes widened slightly, and a faint smile appeared on her lips. “Margaret Harper… So it’s true. She really did exist.”
My confusion only grew. “What are you talking about? Of course, she existed. She was my grandma. What does that have to do with this gift card?”
She leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. “Your grandmother was a legend around here, though not many people knew her by name. To most of us, she was ‘The Angel in Disguise.’”
I stared at her, utterly bewildered. “The Angel in Disguise? My grandma? That can’t be right. She was… well, she was cheap. She saved every penny and never spent money unless she absolutely had to.”
The manager chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s what she wanted people to believe. But Margaret had a heart bigger than this whole store. She used her savings to buy these gift cards and secretly leave them for people who needed them most. Families who were struggling, single parents trying to make ends meet, people down on their luck—your grandma helped them all. But she never wanted recognition. She always insisted on anonymity.”
