When I was a kid, my mom got fired for giving leftover muffins to a homeless veteran. She worked at Beller’s Bakery for nearly two decades and was loved by everyone. But one rainy night, her kindness was labeled “inventory theft” by a smug new manager named Derek. She came home in tears, flour still on her apron — and I never forgot.
Years passed. I grew up, started a food-tech company that now partners with bakeries to donate leftovers — legally and proudly. Then one day, a résumé landed on my desk: Derek. Same name, same arrogant smile. In the interview, he bragged about firing someone for “misusing inventory.” He didn’t recognize me.
I let him finish, then calmly said, “That woman was my mother.” He went pale. I told him we had no job for him, but the shelter down the street might be hiring. That night, I called Mom and told her what happened. She laughed, then softly said, “You didn’t do it for me — you did it for that little boy who saw it all.” She was right.
