ONE EVENING, A DELIVERY DRIVER DROPPED OFF CHINESE FOOD I NEVER ORDERED — WHAT WAS WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF THE RECEIPT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
It was a Thursday night, and like most nights, the house was a whirlwind of activity. My five-year-old, Jamie, was busy constructing a towering Lego masterpiece while my toddler, Emily, had transformed the living room rug into her personal canvas using yogurt. I was completely drained. Life as a single mom had been my reality ever since my husband walked out two years ago. He had chosen another woman, started a new life, and left me to pick up the broken pieces.
Just as I finished wiping up Emily’s latest mess, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My first thought was that it might be a salesperson or a neighbor needing something. But when I opened the door, I was met with a young delivery driver holding a large paper bag filled with Chinese food.
“”Uh, delivery for Mrs. Carter?”” he asked, checking his phone.
“”I think you have the wrong house,”” I answered, puzzled.
He frowned, double-checked, then said, “”It’s already paid for. Are you sure you didn’t order this?””
I shook my head. “”No, I didn’t.””
“”Well, I guess it’s yours now. No one’s answering the number on file,”” he said with a shrug, handing me the bag.
Intrigued and slightly bewildered, I carried the food inside. The delicious aroma of sweet and sour chicken filled the air, making my stomach rumble. As I set the bag down on the counter, something caught my eye—a receipt tucked inside.
Flipping it over, I found a message written in neat handwriting. My heart pounded as I read it.
