I first noticed the table on my walk to the library—a folding table with paper bags and a handwritten sign: “FREE LUNCH FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS.” At first, I thought nothing of it. But one day, with only $2 left in my account, I grabbed a bag. Inside was a peanut butter sandwich, apple slices, and a granola bar. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt like a lifeline.

Soon, I began going back regularly. Then one day, a note fell out: “If you’re reading this, I think we’re connected in more ways than you know.” A few days later, another: “You used to live on Linden St, didn’t you? Near the blue house?” My heart dropped. That was my childhood home. Then came the final note: “Tomorrow. Come back early. I’ll be there.”

The next morning, I arrived to find a woman behind the table. She introduced herself as Clara Hensley—and said she had known my mom. She showed me an old photo of the two of them as teenagers. My mom, who passed away five years ago, had asked Clara to look out for me. Clara explained that she started the lunch table to honor that promise.

Through Clara, I learned stories about my mom I’d never known, and eventually she gave me something my mother had left behind: a letter and a key. The letter reminded me I was loved more than I realized. The key led me to a storage unit filled with keepsakes—photos, school projects, even a bracelet I’d made as a child. It was like finding pieces of her again.

Over time, Clara became family. Together we grew the free lunch program into a small community. And in helping others, I found the love my mom had wanted me to carry forward. Now I know: love doesn’t end when someone leaves. It lives on through the kindness we pass to others.