Tonight, I walked into Home Depot to pick up a refrigerator box. Just a box. Nothing fancy. But for us, it was going to be so much more — it was the foundation for my son’s Halloween costume. We were planning to turn his wheelchair into a police car.

What I didn’t expect was that I’d leave with more than cardboard and craft supplies.

I’d leave with my heart full.

Valerie, one of the managers, had been holding the box for me. That alone was kind — but what happened next reminded me that there are still incredible people in this world.

As soon as I arrived, Valerie dropped to the floor — in her vest, with beautifully manicured nails — and started cutting the box down to size. I laughed and told her those nails weren’t made for box cutters. She just smiled and said, “My vest means I’m made for whatever you need.”

That’s when I knew.

Valerie wasn’t just a manager. She was Valerie — a kind, radiant, all-in kind of person.

Once the box was loaded, she didn’t just wave goodbye. She helped us brainstorm what we’d need to bring the police car to life — lights, decals, little details to make it special. We walked all over that store like two kids on a mission, chasing creativity and joy with every aisle.

Then we reached the checkout.

And she did something that left me speechless.

She paid for everything.

I tried to refuse, truly. But Valerie just smiled again and said, “It would bless me greatly.”

My son, who has special needs, might not have understood everything that was happening. But he felt her kindness. He saw her patience. And most of all, he responded to her in that beautiful, open-hearted way only children can.

For me — a mom who sometimes feels like the world forgets how hard it can be — that moment meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just about the money. It wasn’t about the supplies.

It was the way she saw us.

The way she treated my son with gentleness and respect.

The way she reminded me, through the simplest act, that goodness still walks among us — and sometimes, it wears an orange vest.

Thank you, Valerie.

You didn’t just help build a costume tonight.
You helped build a memory — one that my son and I will never forget.