My oat milk, clearly labeled, kept vanishing from the office fridge, leaving me without my daily coffee. Frustrated, I filled a carton with toothpaste and baking soda as petty revenge. The next day, I heard gagging in the break room—it was Clara, the new hire, red-faced and rushing to the sink. Guilt hit me hard.

Everyone knew Clara was struggling, supporting her younger brother and often skipping meals to save money. I’d been so caught up in my annoyance that I didn’t consider the thief might be desperate, not careless. Later, I approached her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, avoiding my gaze. “I couldn’t afford groceries and thought a splash wouldn’t matter.” My prank felt cruel in comparison to her need.

I offered to buy her lunch, and it became our quiet ritual. Over sandwiches, we shared stories of struggle and the masks people wear. My oat milk stopped disappearing—not because I scared her off, but because I chose compassion over resentment. The smallest battles can teach the biggest lessons: kindness nourishes more than vengeance ever could.