For weeks, I stayed up late every night, watching the security footage and setting traps. I was determined to catch the person stealing from my small grocery store. But no amount of preparation could have readied me for what I would find when I finally caught them. The truth had been hidden from me for many years, and I was about to uncover it in the most unexpected way.
At my age, most people were thinking about slowing down—maybe buying a little house in Florida, spending time with grandkids, or going on long vacations. But not me.
I was still fully dedicated to my store. Running a small grocery shop wasn’t just a job—it was my life. There was no such thing as taking a break. For years, I had built this place with my own hands. It was more than just a store; it was a part of me.
Over time, competition had grown. New supermarkets popped up nearby, luring customers away with shiny advertisements and bigger selections. But I never gave up. I worked hard to make my store different. I wanted people to feel like they weren’t just shopping—they were visiting a friend.
Some of my customers had been coming for decades. I had watched them grow up, fall in love, and start families. Then, their children started coming in, and that meant the world to me. It was proof that I had done something right.
But something had been feeling off lately. I noticed small things missing from the shelves. At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe I had miscounted. But as the days passed, the missing items became more noticeable. Not just one or two things—a whole row of dairy products gone overnight.
One afternoon, as I was at the register, Mr. Green walked up with a small basket of groceries. He gave me a friendly smile.
“How are you doing today, Margaret?” he asked.
“I’m doing fine, thank you. How about you?” I replied with a smile.
“I’m good,” he said, then hesitated for a moment. “But I have to say, your dairy shelves have been looking emptier than usual. You always had the best selection in town.”
His words made me freeze for a moment. “That can’t be right. I stocked those shelves just yesterday. Every single one.”
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Maybe you missed something. Or maybe it’s time to slow down. You ever think about retiring? Handing the store over to someone else? Do you have kids?”
His words hit me like a brick. My fingers gripped the edge of the counter, but I forced myself to stay calm. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Goodbye, Mr. Green.”
I bagged his items and handed them to him without another word.
Retire? Slow down? As if! I still had plenty of strength. I worked harder than people half my age. Mr. Green spoke as if I were already an old woman, ready for a rocking chair and soft food.
But his words had struck a deeper wound.
I did have a child once.
A daughter.
Fifteen years ago, she ran away from home. No phone call. No goodbye. Just a note saying she was leaving to start a new life. I searched everywhere, called the police, but they told me she had left willingly.
That answer wasn’t good enough for me. She was my child. She was still young. How could they not help? But no matter how hard I looked, she had disappeared.
I shook the memories away and forced myself back to the present. I walked over to the dairy fridge. It was still early, and barely anyone had come in yet. But my eyes didn’t lie—rows of milk, yogurt, and cheese were missing again.
Someone was stealing from me.
I always believed in trusting people. That was why I had never installed security cameras. I believed people were good. I believed they would do the right thing.
But now, I had no choice.
The next day, I had cameras installed. It was expensive, but I had to protect my store. That night, I sat at the back counter, watching the footage.
At first, everything looked normal. But then, a figure appeared in the darkness. They moved quickly and silently, taking items from the shelves.
They wore a hood, keeping their face hidden. I clicked through the footage, hoping to see their face, but they were careful. Too careful.
I had to take the next step.
I put the footage on a flash drive and drove to the police station. The officer at the front desk led me to a small room and plugged in the footage. He watched with a bored look on his face.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “what do you want from us?”
I stared at him. “I want you to do your job! Someone is breaking into my store and stealing from me. I want you to find out who it is.”
He pointed at the screen. “You can’t even see their face. There’s nothing we can do.”
I clenched my fists. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“My advice? Get an alarm system.”
I scoffed, grabbed the flash drive, and stormed out. If the police wouldn’t help me, I would handle it myself.
That night, I hid inside my store, waiting in the darkness. Hours passed, and just when I thought I was wrong, I heard the door creak. The alarm beeped off.
My heart pounded.
I peeked out and saw the figure moving through the aisles. Small. Quick. Careful.
I crept forward, then lunged. “Got you!” I shouted, grabbing the hoodie.
The person struggled and slipped out of the hoodie. I pulled it back—and gasped.
A boy. No older than fourteen. Thin, scared.
His eyes locked with mine.
And they were her eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked. My voice was shaking. “Why are you stealing from me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and ran.
I stood frozen, clutching the hoodie, my heart pounding. I had seen those eyes before.
My daughter’s eyes.
Could it be…?
From that night on, the thefts stopped. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy. Who was he? And why did he have my daughter’s eyes?
Then one evening, I saw him. Hood up, carrying groceries in his arms. I followed him at a distance until he reached a small, tidy house.
I stepped out of my car, walked to the front door, and knocked softly.
The door opened.
And there she was.
“Alice,” I whispered. My voice trembled.
Her face paled. “Mom?”
She wasn’t the same girl who had left. She was a woman now. Tired. Older.
I held up the hoodie. “Is this his?”
Her eyes widened. Before she could answer, the boy appeared. “Mom, close the door!” he whispered urgently.
Alice turned to him. “Travis, what’s going on?”
I took a step forward. “Travis was stealing from my store.”
Alice’s eyes filled with shock. “What?!”
Travis looked down. “I just wanted to help. We never have enough money…”
Alice covered her face. “That is not how we solve problems.”
I looked at her. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
She hesitated. “I thought you hated me.”
Tears filled my eyes. “Alice…you’re my daughter. How could I ever hate you?”
And for the first time in fifteen years, I held my daughter again.
We had lost so much time. But in that moment, we found each other again.
