I was broke—truly broke—and had just received my food stamp card. In the grocery store, I picked out about eight dollars’ worth of basics, rehearsing the total in my head. When it was finally my turn, I swiped the card.

The clerk frowned.
“There’s only one dollar available.”

My stomach dropped. Heat rushed to my face. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I muttered something ridiculous—“Guess I left my money on my yacht”—and started backing away, praying no one noticed how embarrassed I was.

That’s when a man stepped forward.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s alright. Everyone goes through hard times.”
No judgment. No pity. Just kindness.

He offered to cover the rest—just a few dollars—but his compassion felt like so much more. I hesitated, but he smiled, gentle and genuine, and I finally accepted.

Outside, he walked with me for a moment. He told me he’d once been in my shoes—broke, overwhelmed, unsure how to keep going. A stranger had helped him then, and it changed him. Ever since, he promised himself he’d pay that kindness forward whenever he could.

His story stayed with me.

As I headed home with my small bag of groceries, something inside me felt lighter. He didn’t fix all my problems—but he reminded me that good people still exist, that empathy matters, and that even in the hardest moments, help can appear when you least expect it.

Someday, I thought, I’ll pay it forward too.