Ciara’s routine grocery run is interrupted when she comes across a homeless man. The next day, she finds the man waiting for her, a confession ready on his lips.

Between the past two days, my life turned into a Hallmark movie.

I’m a mom of four kids — ranging from four to eight years old. I juggle life as a part-time school teacher while my husband, Bruce, works as an engineer. We lead a simple, yet fulfilling life in our cozy home.

For the most part, life is predictable for me. I sort out the kids and our home, and go back and forth between work. But yesterday was a welcome shake-up from the routine.

So there I was, on my typical grocery run, shopping list in hand, mind racing through the daily math of household management. I sipped on a coffee, eager for caffeine to course through my veins.

That’s when I saw him — a homeless man standing outside the store, his gaze fixed on the food inside. I watched him for a moment; his longing for food was a punch right in my gut. Something inside me clicked, and before I knew it, I was walking up to him.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you hungry?” I asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

His reply was simple, but it struck hard.

“More than you can imagine,” his voice was weary but laced with a hint of hope.

Here was a man who just needed some light in his day. From one angle, he reminded me of my grandfather — a man who had seen his fair share of hardship, but none of it had hardened his eyes.

Acting on impulse, I invited him to pick out some groceries.

“I don’t have any money, Miss,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s on me. My name is Ciara,” I said.

Watching his eyes well up as he thanked me and murmured blessings sent a shiver up my spine. The act was so simple for me — but it meant so much to him.

“My name is Martin,” he said.

We walked around the store, the man adding the bare minimum into my cart, which was piled high with groceries that my kids thrived on.

“Tell me about your children,” he said.

I told him all about the twins, and how they were suddenly obsessed with football, even though they were lanky boys who were yet to build muscle. I told him about Emily, the baby of the house, who only wanted to suck on candy and pop bubbles that she asked her brothers to blow.

Finally, I told him about my oldest, Jemma — the eight-year-old who devoured books way above her age group.

“They all sound lovely,” he said, helping me pack the groceries into brown paper bags. “You’re a great mother.”

Fast forward to today, where I found myself back at the grocery store because I had given both milk cartons to the man — resulting in a cereal-free morning for the kids.

Standing at the entrance of the store, just like the previous day, was Martin.

But he was entirely different. He was dressed in a military uniform, all clean-shaven and dignified. He was a bright light compared to the downcast figure from the day before.

“There you are,” he said as if he had been expecting me all along.

“What happened?” I asked him, gesturing to his attire.

“I’m here to buy you some milk,” he smiled. “You gave me both of them yesterday.”

“How?” I asked.

“I’m not the same man you met yesterday. Your kindness inspired me to reclaim a part of my life I thought was lost forever.”

We sat on a bench, and Martin’s story unfolded from there. Martin was a veteran, lost in the transition back to civilian life, feeling abandoned by the world. He said that my kindness sparked something in him, a reminder that empathy and compassion still existed.

Motivated by this, he sought help from the Veterans Affairs Office after I drove away.

“I’ve avoided the place for months,” Martin said. “I think I just couldn’t stand the thought of being back in such a volatile field, even though there’s no way I’d be sent out at my age.”

Martin was welcomed with open arms and was immediately signed up for a program where his basic needs were going to be taken care of.

“I’m going to work with men who come back. The Office is trying out a new program where these men get the counseling they need before going home — to try and adjust better.”

I couldn’t believe that I played a small part in getting Martin back on his feet. As we parted ways, I held a fresh carton of milk, and he left me with a powerful message.

“Just promise you’ll keep spreading kindness, Ciara. It’s more powerful than you know. Let your children see it, too.”

I’m buzzing from the fact that Martin is safe and cared for now — he’ll be able to sleep soundly and have access to food. That’s more than I could have hoped for.

Do you have any similar stories?

Here’s another story for you. An older man keeps dropping his groceries on the floor due to his trembling hands, but no one rushes to his aid except a 12-year-old boy. Moved by the young boy’s charity, the older man gives him a tiny parcel dear to his heart.