She froze like a startled animal. Slowly, she turned around. For a second, I expected her to run.
Instead, her face crumpled. Her knees buckled, and she burst into tears right there on the linoleum floor. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, words tumbling over each other.
“I didn’t mean to—I just—I don’t have any money.”
I crouched down so we were at eye level. “Why the candy?”
She clutched the bag like it was priceless. “These are my mom’s favorite,” she whispered.
“She’s dying. The doctors said it’s only a few days now. She hasn’t been able to eat much, but she always liked these.
I just wanted to give her something sweet before she goes.”
I’ve heard a lot of excuses working retail. This wasn’t one of them. I stood up, rang the candy through the register, and paid for it myself.
Then, without thinking too much, I pulled two hundred dollars from my wallet and pressed it into her shaking hand. “For your mom,” I said. “And for you.”
She stared at the money like it might disappear.
Then she hugged me—tight, sudden, desperate—before whispering thank you and running out the door. I barely had time to breathe before my manager came storming out of the back office. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
His face was red, veins standing out in his neck. “You just rewarded theft! You broke policy!”
“I paid for it,” I said.
“It was my money.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “We can’t have employees deciding who deserves what. You’re done.
