PART 2 The nurse’s name was Nadine Fogarty. She parked her Corolla and came inside the coffee stand, still in her scrubs, still holding my phone. “Three years ago,” she said slowly, “I was a night nurse in hospice. There was a woman named Maureen Whitley. Ovarian cancer. She was only 41.”

He looked back.

Nadine waved.

Now they get coffee together every Saturday. At a table. Inside.

Like family.

THE END.

──────────────

You never know who’s been quietly paying it forward for you. Sometimes it’s someone you saved.

Have you ever had a stranger pay for your coffee? Tell us in the replies.