Life had not been kind to me over the past year. As a single dad of three kids—Emily, 8, Jake, 6, and Lily, 4—I did my best to keep us afloat, but the mounting bills and job loss had forced us out of our apartment. For the past four months, our home had been a tattered tent pitched on the edge of a park. Every day was a battle to provide food, keep the kids warm, and maintain a shred of hope.
A few days ago, I was at a gas station trying to scrape together change to buy water for the kids. That’s when I saw an elderly man standing at the counter, fumbling with his wallet. He was short a couple of dollars for gas, and the impatient customers behind him began to yell. Instead of offering help, they hurled insults, some even laughing as they drove away.
I couldn’t watch anymore. Digging into my pocket, I found my last $2 and handed it to the cashier. The old man looked at me with watery eyes and whispered, “Thank you.” I waved it off, telling him to take care, but as I walked back to the tent later, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d given away the only money I had left for nothing.
The next morning, as the kids were waking up, I heard a deep rumbling noise. Stepping out of the tent, I froze. Two shiny black jeeps were parked in front of us, and a man in a suit stepped out, holding an envelope.
“Are you Mr. Harris?” he asked. I nodded, half-expecting him to tell me I was being evicted from the park.
“This letter is for you,” he said, handing it over with a small bow before stepping back into the jeep. Confused, I opened the envelope and began to read:
*“Dear Mr. Harris,
You may not remember me, but I am the man you helped at the gas station yesterday. What you couldn’t have known is that I was testing the kindness of strangers. For months, I’ve been looking for someone with true integrity and generosity to entrust with my legacy. You were the only one who showed compassion when you had so little to give.
As of today, I am transferring ownership of my company to you. Included in this envelope is the deed to my business and a check for $50,000 to help you get back on your feet. A car will arrive shortly to bring you and your children to your new home. Thank you for reminding me that good people still exist in this world.
Sincerely,
William Everett
CEO, Everett Industries”*
I read the letter twice, then three times, my hands shaking. Emily tugged on my shirt. “Dad, what does it say?” she asked. My voice cracked as I tried to explain that our lives were about to change.
Within an hour, a moving truck and another car arrived. The driver introduced himself as Mr. Everett’s assistant and guided us to a modest but beautiful house on the outskirts of the city. Inside, the fridge was stocked, the beds were made, and there was even a playroom for the kids.
The next week, I met Mr. Everett in person. He was kind, humble, and genuinely happy to see us settled. He walked me through the operations of Everett Industries, a mid-sized manufacturing company, and assured me that his staff would help me with the transition.
Life didn’t magically become perfect overnight—I had a lot to learn and a family to rebuild—but for the first time in months, I felt hope. All because of $2 and a simple act of kindness. What I gave that day wasn’t just money—it was humanity. And it came back to me in ways I never imagined.