My name’s Chris. I’m a pretty simple guy — work, home, family. My wife, Anna, and I have been together eight years. We have a son, Max, who’s six. Bright kid. Big eyes, big heart.
Max has always been a curious, gentle soul. The type who’d save worms from the sidewalk after rain and try to keep them as pets. The type who’d hand you dandelions with such pride you’d think they were roses.
Lately, though, something changed.
It started one afternoon when I found a crumpled daisy in his backpack. I thought nothing of it. Kids pick up random stuff all the time, right?
Then I started noticing more: small bundles of wildflowers, petals tucked into his coat pockets, and once, a delicate pink rose hidden under his pillow.
“Who gave you these, buddy?” I asked him one evening as we were cleaning out his room.
Max’s cheeks turned bright red. He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “Just… no one,” he mumbled, his little hands fidgeting.
Anna brushed it off. “He’s probably playing some game. Let him be.” But it gnawed at me.
Every day, after school, he’d come home with a new flower. He’d hide them quickly, sometimes burying them in drawers or slipping them under his bed. When I’d ask, he’d just say, “I found them,” and run off.
Then, last Thursday, I decided to leave work early and surprise Max by picking him up myself.
I parked across from the school and waited. When the bell rang, kids poured out, shouting and laughing. Then I saw Max. But instead of heading toward the gate, he walked around the side of the building, looking around nervously.
I followed.
There, behind the school garden, I saw it. Max was kneeling in front of an older woman sitting on a bench. She looked worn but kind, with soft gray hair and a gentle smile. In her hands, she held a single wilted tulip — the one Max had handed her just moments before.
I froze, my heart in my throat.
Max looked up at her and said, “I brought you another one today. Do you feel better now?”
She reached out, brushing his hair back. “Thank you, my sweet boy. You always make my day brighter.”
I felt tears sting my eyes.
I stepped forward, revealing myself. Max jumped, wide-eyed, but the woman just smiled at me warmly.
“Hi, Daddy…” Max said, his voice tiny.
The woman looked at me and spoke softly. “I’m sorry if this is a surprise. Your son… he’s been visiting me every day. My daughter used to bring me flowers. She passed last year. I think… he could tell I was lonely.”
I knelt down, pulling Max into my arms. “Why didn’t you tell me, buddy?”
He pressed his face into my chest. “I didn’t want you to be sad. I wanted to help her like you help me when I’m sad.”
I hugged him tighter than I ever had before.
Anna cried when I told her that night. We both did.
The next day, we took a big bouquet together, and we sat with that woman on the bench. We listened to her stories. We let her talk about her daughter.
Max still brings her flowers — but now he doesn’t have to hide them.
I always thought I was teaching my son about kindness. Turns out, he was teaching me all along.