The Bag on My Porch
I’m 28, seven months pregnant, and on my own. When I told the father about the baby, he disappeared that same night, muttering that he “wasn’t ready.” Since then, it’s just been me, the little life inside me I call Bean, and my rattling old Corolla.
I work part-time at a pharmacy, but the money vanishes as fast as I earn it—rent, gas, utilities, doctor check-ups. Every month is a new battle.
That Tuesday, I stopped at the grocery store, counting my dollars as I filled a basket with bare necessities. At checkout, I heard raised voices.
At the register stood an elderly man, maybe seventy, his shirt faded thin, one shoe nearly worn through. In his basket: bread, milk, eggs, soup… and a single bag of dog food. In his arms, he clutched a tiny terrier, trembling but adored.
The cashier rang everything up—\$15.50. The man’s hands shook as he dug into his pockets. Then, one by one, he began pulling out items and setting them aside. First the soup, then the eggs, then the bread.
The line groaned.
“ARE WE GOING TO STAND HERE ALL DAY?” someone shouted.
“HURRY IT UP!” another snapped.
A security guard came over, arms crossed. “NO DOGS ALLOWED. Either the bag or the dog goes.”
The man’s face crumpled. His voice cracked as he pulled the terrier closer. “She’s all I have left. Please… just leave the dog food.”
My heart clenched. I didn’t even think. I stepped forward, pressing my basket to the counter.
“I’ll pay for everything,” I said firmly.
The old man shook his head. “Miss… I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I interrupted, handing the cashier a twenty. “Food for both of them.”
The cashier bagged it up. The old man’s eyes glistened as he whispered, “Thank you.”
That night, I fell asleep to Bean’s soft kicks, telling myself I’d done one good thing in a world that so often felt unfair.
The next morning, I was woken by a sound on the porch. I thought it was the neighbor’s cat scratching. Groggy, I shuffled to the door and opened it.
On the porch sat a neatly folded paper bag. Inside were fresh vegetables, a loaf of bread, and a tiny envelope with shaky handwriting:
“For you and Bean. The world needs more hearts like yours. — G. & Daisy”
I pressed the note to my chest, tears sliding down my cheeks. For once, I didn’t feel so alone.