When I was thirteen and struggling financially, I often went without lunch—until a kind classmate noticed and began bringing me food every day. Then one day, she disappeared without a word, and I never saw her again.
Fifteen years later, while working at a police station, I saw her name among those to be questioned—her husband had gone missing, and she was distraught. I kept my identity hidden during the investigation, which later revealed he had left by choice. Once it was over, I reached out, reintroduced myself, and we shared an emotional reunion; now, I visit her regularly as a way to give back the kindness she once showed me.
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