My grandma was the kind of woman who washed and reused plastic bags. She clipped coupons religiously and turned off lights the second you left a room. So when she died and left me a $50 gift card, I almost laughed. Of course she’d give me something so small.
But when I tried to use it, everything changed.
The cashier froze. “This… this can’t be real.”
Before I could ask why, the store manager was beside me, asking to speak privately.
In her office, she asked for my grandma’s name.
“Margaret Harper,” I said.
The manager’s face softened. “Your grandmother was a legend here.”
“What?”
“For decades, she bought gift cards and left them for strangers in need. She never wanted thanks—just helped quietly.”
I couldn’t believe it. The woman who saved twist ties had been giving away thousands?
“This card,” the manager said, “was her last one. It’s been waiting for you.”
A few days later, I gave it to a homeless man outside the store.
As he thanked me, I finally understood—my grandma’s thriftiness wasn’t about greed.
It was about love.
