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The story didn’t end with a simple thank-you. Two days later, a plain cardboard box arrived at our door with no return address. Inside were grocery gift cards, bags of coffee, plenty of snacks, and a note from the school stating we had been enrolled in a local assistance program—no paperwork, no questions, just grace.
I still pack Andrew’s lunch every morning. The ritual hasn’t changed, but the contents have. Now, I always pack two of everything. I pack an extra sandwich, an extra apple, and the “happiest” granola bar I can find. I don’t do it because I have to, but because Andrew taught me that kindness isn’t something you do when you have a surplus; it’s something you do because it’s the only thing that actually keeps the world from falling apart. The police came to my door because of a lunchbox, but they left behind something I hadn’t felt in a long time: the knowledge that when you share the little you have, the world has a way of sharing it back.
