My mother, Cathy, worked at Beller’s Bakery for 18 years. She wasn’t just an employee—she was the heart of the place. Customers came for the pastries, but they stayed for her warmth. She remembered birthdays, asked about families, and treated everyone like they mattered.
One rainy evening, while closing up, she noticed a homeless veteran sitting outside, soaked and shivering. Without hesitation, she gathered leftover pastries that were headed for the trash and handed them to him with a smile. To her, it was nothing special. To him, it was hope.
The next morning, she was fired.
The new manager, Derek, called her into his office and dismissed her for “breaking company policy.” No warning. No compassion. Just a cold ending to nearly two decades of loyalty.
I was a teenager when she came home crying, folding away her sunflower apron for the last time. I felt helpless.
Ten years later, I founded a food-tech startup focused on rescuing unsold food and feeding people in need—the very values my mother lived by.
One day, I reviewed candidates for a leadership role and saw a familiar name: Derek.
I invited him in. During the interview, he proudly described firing an “older woman” for giving food to the homeless, calling it “discipline.”
I looked at him calmly and said, “That woman was my mother.”
The interview ended there.
Today, my mom works beside me, leading outreach programs and food drives. Derek taught me what authority without compassion looks like. My mother taught me something better: kindness is never wasted—and sometimes, it comes back around exactly when it’s needed.
