I always thought my grandma was the cheapest person on earth. She darned socks instead of buying new ones, saved every scrap of food, and reused wrapping paper. So when she passed away and left me a $50 gift card, I rolled my eyes. Typical.
But when I tried to use it, the cashier went pale.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“My grandma,” I said, suddenly nervous.
She called the manager, who pulled me aside. “Your grandmother’s name?”
“Margaret Harper.”
The manager smiled. “We’ve been hoping this card would surface.”
Then she told me the truth—my grandma had spent years secretly buying gift cards for struggling families. She never told anyone, never took credit.
“This was her last one,” the manager said. “It’s still fully loaded.”
Tears filled my eyes. All those years, I’d judged her for being frugal, when really, she’d been saving to give.
The next day, I gave the card to a tired-looking nurse at a coffee shop.
As she cried, I realized—my grandma wasn’t cheap.
She was a saint in disguise.
