Little Black Book of Generosity

Two cups of rice...Heather wrote down in her small black notebook, sighing and breathing heavily.

Heather had a habit of writing down what she owed to Mrs Thompson, the nice, elderly lady living next door. Mrs. Thompson never bothered asking Heather for payment, but Heather promised to return the kindness.

"who wants oatmeal for dinner? "she asked, putting down her pen and favorite notebook.

"But, mom, we already ate that yesterday. I want chicken and potatoes!" said Lucy, her four-year-old.

Marie, who was only three, mimicked Lucy and said she wanted it, too.

It had been a while since they had a proper dinner. Stroking the hair of each of her daughters, she promised they'd have a feast after receiving her first salary from her new job.

As a widow, Heather worked hard for her kids. Her late husband had died of cancer, leaving the family with a pile of bills. It pained her to see her children suffer, but she knew she was trying her best to provide for them and give them a better future someday.

After dinner, Heather put the girls to bed and grabbed her notebook. Her brow furrowed as she reviewed her list of what Mrs. Thompson had already given to her-it was seven pages long.

Mrs. Thompson's 80th's birthday was tomorrow, and Heather decided she would buy a birthday cake and deliver it with Lucy and Marie. With her plan in mind, Heather closed her notebook and headed to bed.

The next morning, Heather fixed breakfast for the girls-cereal from Mrs. Thompson-and then dropped them off at their preschool before heading to work.

It was a typical day shift, except for one exciting event: her first pay day. Finally, she could buy better food for her girls and find the perfect birthday cake for Mrs. Thompson.

After picking up the girls from school, she dropped by the grocery store and bought a chocolate cake for Mrs. Thompson.

The girls were so excited for Mrs. Thompson's birthday. They often visited as she had become like a surrogate grandma to them. Mrs. Thompson baked them cookies, told funny stories, and gave them big hugs.

In their humble apartment, they celebrated their neighbor's birthday, filled with fun and love. Heather was pleased with how the celebration went, how Mrs. Thompson's eyes had glittered as she blew out her birthday candles and made a wish.

Before falling asleep that night, Heather murmured to herself, "Mrs. Thompson, I'll make it up to you, I promise."

In the middle of the night, an ambulance siren blared through the windows. Heather jolted out of bed to see what was happening. Footsteps and voices echoed through the corridor. After opening her door to sneak a look in the hallway, Heather froze. The body of Mrs. Thompson was being loaded onto a stretcher, and the paramedics were shaking their heads and talking in hushed voices.

A week after Mrs. Thompson's death, Heather received a letter saying:

"Dear Heather Sicarla,

This letter is to inform you that you are the sole beneficiary and heir to Mrs. Rachel Thompson's estate.

Please find the enclosed check for $20,000."

Completely taken aback, tears silently trailed down Heather's cheeks.

Even in her death, Mrs. Thompson's shared act of kindness, of genuine generosity.

When she stopped crying, Heather pulled out her small black notebook and wrote: $20,000.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Thompson," she said, clutching the notebook to her heart. "I will make it my mission to give back to other people like you did."

THE END