3.16作业

It rained on that Wednesday afternoon, the kind of drizzle that turns sidewalks into shimmering mirrors. I was rushing to buy milk at 7-Eleven. At the entrance, there, sat an elderly woman in a faded floral dress, struggling to fold her umbrella under the awning.
Without thinking, I grabbed two shopping bags and offered to carry her groceries. "Are you okay?" I asked, noticing her hands trembling as she held a carton of eggs. She nodded.
As we walked through the automatic doors, she suddenly stopped. "You remind me of my daughter," she whispered, pulling out a crumpled receipt from her pocket. "She used to do this for me..." Her voice faded, and I saw the date – 2019. That was the year her daughter died in a car accident.
We stood there in silence for a moment, the rain continuing its soft patter. Then she placed a small jar of pickled cucumbers in my bag. "For luck," she said, her eyes glistening. "They’re my husband’s favorite."
I never saw her again. But every time I open that pickle jar at work, I hear her voice: "Thank you for carrying my groceries that day." Last week, I found a note stuffed under my door: "Your kindness kept my memories alive."
Now, I always carry an extra umbrella in my bag. Not because of the rain, but because some people need help folding their own lives back into shape.