Nancy couldn’t understand why someone would take her son’s pie. This ritual, her sacred way of remembering Henry, had been violated.Determined to find out who took the pie, Nancy baked another one the next morning. She hid behind a tree near the grave, watching for any sign of the culprit. Her heart raced with anticipation.Then, a small, ragged boy appeared. He cautiously approached the pie, his face dirty and his clothes torn. Nancy’s anger melted away as she watched him kneel by the grave,
pull out a scrap of paper, and write “Thank you.” He wasn’t stealing—he was a hungry child, grateful for the pie. As he reached for the pie, Nancy stepped forward. The boy froze, terrified, and dropped the pie. He apologized profusely, his voice trembling. Nancy knelt beside him, her heart softening. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Where are your parents?” The boy, Jimmy, confessed that he was hungry and didn’t have a home. He didn’t mean to steal—he just wanted something to eat. Moved by his situation, Nancy offered to bake him a pie, just for him. Jimmy’s eyes lit up with disbelief as he accepted. Later, in her kitchen, Nancy baked another apple pie, watching as Jimmy eagerly devoured it. For the first time in years, Nancy felt a sense of peace. Sharing the pie with Jimmy, she realized this was how she could honor Henry’s memory. Her grief had led her to help a child in need, bringing unexpected comfort and connection into her life. As Jimmy finished the last bite, Nancy smiled, knowing that, in some strange way, this was how love and kindness always find their way back.
