My heart sank a little. For some reason, the emptiness felt heavier than if it had been full.
I unfolded the paper.
There was a short message written in neat handwriting.
It said:
“If you’re reading this, it means you needed this bag more than I did.
Money comes and goes. Integrity stays.
Thank you for being honest.”
I read it again. And again.
My throat tightened.
Suddenly, the whole thing made sense.
This wasn’t an accident.
She hadn’t forgotten the bag.
She had left it.
On purpose.
I sat on my bed for a long time, holding that piece of paper. I thought about all the moments when I could’ve made a different choice. I could’ve taken the bag home that first night. No one would’ve known. I could’ve looked inside. I could’ve justified it—low pay, long hours, unfair world.
But I didn’t.
And she knew that someone like me would find it.
That message hit me harder than any reward ever could.
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