At 12, I used to steal flowers from a small shop to place on my mother’s grave because I had no money. One day the owner caught me, but instead of scolding me, she gently said that if the flowers were for my mother, I should take them properly and come through the front door next time.
After that, every week I visited the shop and chose flowers for my mother. She never charged me and often added an extra bloom, quietly becoming a source of comfort during my grief.
Ten years later, I returned to the same shop to buy flowers for my wedding. When I mentioned the little girl she once let take flowers for her mother’s grave, she realized it was me. With tears in her eyes, she told me she had known my mother, who used to buy daisies there every Sunday.
She offered my wedding bouquet for free, like before—but this time I paid, wanting to return her kindness. As I left with the daisies, I realized that the flowers I once thought I had stolen had really been given with love, and that kindness can take years to bloom. 🌼