Three years ago, my then two-year-old son, Charlie, asked a simple question: could he bring a toy along on our grocery trip? Normally, I would have said no—kids and toys don’t mix well with shopping carts and crowded aisles. But for whatever reason that day, I said yes.

Charlie chose his toy carefully: a 1970s Star Wars Stormtrooper, a small piece of nostalgia that somehow became his companion for the trip. We navigated our usual path through the store, picking up groceries, chatting about what we saw on the shelves, and making our way to the checkout. But when it was time to pack up, Charlie realized something that made his little heart sink—his Stormtrooper was gone.

We retraced our steps, checked every aisle, peeked behind shelves, even looked in the cart and our bags. But it was gone. For Charlie, it wasn’t just a toy—it was his Stormtrooper, a cherished friend. And for me, it became a small, lingering heartbreak to see his disappointment, his little shoulders slumping in silence.

Since that day, every visit to Cub Foods has carried a ritual. Charlie insists we stop at the Guest Service counter, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, someone found his Stormtrooper. Three years of visits, three years of polite “no, not today,” but never losing hope in the small magic of possibility.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, something extraordinary happened. Diego, one of the guest service employees who had seen us on countless trips, mentioned casually that he and a colleague had decided to buy Charlie’s missing Stormtrooper off the internet and surprise him. I felt my chest tighten, not sure if I could even process it—this small act of kindness, so deliberate and thoughtful, had already begun to touch me deeply.

Today, we approached the Guest Service counter, Charlie’s small hand in mine, excitement twinkling in his eyes. Diego reached behind the counter, and with a small smile, he handed Charlie a package. Charlie’s eyes widened as he slowly pulled out the 1970s Stormtrooper—the very same one that had been lost for three long years. For a moment, disbelief froze him in place. Then came the purest, most joyous smile I’ve ever seen. He hugged that toy like it was a long-lost friend—and in a way, it truly was.

It wasn’t just a toy returned. It was the culmination of patience, hope, and an extraordinary act of kindness. Diego’s thoughtfulness reminded me, in a world so often busy and distracted, that people still go out of their way to bring joy to others—especially children. I couldn’t hold back my tears. Gratitude, relief, and sheer happiness all poured out as I thanked Diego, over and over, for his kindness.

Cub Foods, you have incredible people working for you. And Diego—thank you for reminding me that the smallest gestures, the most thoughtful actions, can create a lifetime of joy. Today, my son’s heart is full, his faith in magic restored, and I am reminded, once again, that kindness matters, and it matters deeply.