At my age, most people were thinking about retirement or relaxing, but not me. I was focused on improving my grocery store. Owning a small business meant no rest. Over the years, new competition had cropped up, but I kept pushing forward.
I wanted my store to feel like a friend’s home, not just a place to buy food. Many of my customers had been coming for decades, and seeing their kids now made me proud. But recently, things started disappearing from the shelves—more than just a couple of items.
When Mr. Green mentioned the lack of dairy, I was taken aback. I knew I had stocked it all just the day before. His suggestion to slow down hit me hard. I wasn’t ready to quit.
But then, the missing items became undeniable. I installed cameras to catch the thief, and when I reviewed the footage, a hooded figure moved swiftly through the store, stealing things. I took the footage to the police, but they brushed me off. Undeterred, I set up an alarm system, hoping it would help.
A few days later, the shelves were empty again. Mr. Green mentioned going elsewhere for groceries, and I couldn’t let that happen. That night, I waited in the store, and sure enough, the thief returned. I caught him—just a boy, maybe fourteen—and when I saw his eyes, I was stunned. They were my daughter’s eyes.
The thefts stopped, but I couldn’t forget the boy. One evening, I followed him home and was shocked to find my daughter, Alice, at the door. She had a son, Travis, the boy who had been stealing. He confessed he’d stolen to help, but Alice was ashamed and had kept away all these years.
I had spent fifteen years searching for her, and now she was back. We hugged, tears streaming, and I knew I had found my family again—thanks to Travis. If not for his theft, I might never have seen Alice again.
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