Every Day, a Lonely Old Woman Bought Baby Supplies from My Store, Until I Discovered the Strange Place She Took Them – Story of the Day

Running a small grocery store, I thought I knew every face in my neighborhood. But one customer remained a mystery — a lonely elderly woman who came every day for baby supplies. One evening, I followed her and saw she was taking them to a strange place I never expected.

Owning a small grocery store was never part of my big dreams, but life has a way of surprising you. When my aunt passed away, she left me this little shop tucked in the corner of our neighborhood.

At first, I thought it was just going to be work, something steady to keep me busy. But soon I realized it was more than a business.

It was a place where people crossed paths, where stories were shared over the counter along with bread and milk, where I became not only a shopkeeper but a silent witness to the everyday lives of my neighbors.

I thought I knew everyone, and in a way, I did. That’s what small neighborhoods are like.

Except for one person.

Her name was Miss Greene, though everyone simply called her “that woman.”

She was older, probably in her late sixties, with sharp features that never seemed to relax into a smile.

Whenever she entered my shop, the air shifted. People lowered their voices or moved out of her way.

If someone was slow at the register, she would bark at them to hurry. If a mother’s baby cried too loudly, she would mutter something cruel under her breath.

And yet, in all the years she came, I realized I knew nothing about her. No one did.

The only things that floated around were whispers, stories that changed depending on who was telling them.

“Her family disappeared one night and never came back.” “I heard she’s a witch, keeps jars of strange things in her house.” “Someone swore they saw teeth in a glass jar by her window.”

I didn’t believe a word of it, of course.

People invent things when faced with mystery, and Miss Greene, with her permanent scowl and secretive ways, gave them plenty of material.

For the longest time, she only ever bought the bare essentials: bread, canned goods, maybe some coffee.

But recently, something changed. Every single day she came in, and every single day she picked up baby supplies.

Formula, diapers, pacifiers. At first, I brushed it off. But when it became a pattern, my curiosity began to gnaw at me.

One Wednesday afternoon, she marched in as usual, grabbed a large pack of diapers, and made her way to the counter.

Before I could stop myself, I asked the question that had been burning on my tongue for days.

“Miss Greene… may I ask, who are these for?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, cold and furious, and for a second, I regretted opening my mouth.

“That’s none of your business!” she barked.

I froze, my hands hovering over the register. Before I could apologize or explain, she yanked the pack of diapers closer, shoved them under her arm, and stormed out without paying.

The bell above the door rang violently as it slammed shut behind her.

A soft chuckle broke my shock. I turned to see Mr. Willis waiting patiently. He had kind eyes and a warm smile, the sort that instantly put you at ease.

“Don’t let her get to you,” he said. “She’s not as bad as she looks.”

“Really? Because she just stole from me.”

“We were classmates a long time ago. Back then, she was a sweet girl. Always helping others, always laughing.”

I frowned. “Miss Greene? Are we talking about the same person?”

“She’s not a monster, no matter what people say. It’s just… life has a way of changing people. For her, it was loneliness.”

Loneliness.

Maybe that was the truth behind all the rumors, the sharp edges, the bitterness. Not curses or dark secrets, but something far simpler and sadder.

Still, it didn’t explain the baby supplies. And that was the thought that kept me awake that night.

The next few days followed the same strange pattern. Miss Greene came in, silent and grim, and went straight for the baby aisle.

Each time she walked out, I promised myself I would let it go, and each time, I failed. Curiosity doesn’t loosen its grip once it has you.

One day, I decided I couldn’t stand the mystery any longer.

When she pushed open the door and disappeared down the street, I scribbled a note with my phone number and taped it to the front door for customers who might come by.

Then I stepped out, locked the shop behind me, and followed.

I kept a careful distance, staying at least half a block away. We walked for several blocks, winding past quiet houses and empty sidewalks, until she suddenly stopped.

She turned sharply, her eyes locking on mine as if she'd known I was there all along.

“Why are you following me?” she barked.

“I—I just… I was curious,” I stammered. “You’ve been buying baby things, and I—”

“That’s none of your concern!” she cut me off.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But if you need help, I want to help.”

“Help? From you? Go back to your store. If I see you behind me again, I’ll call the police!”

With that, she turned the corner and disappeared from my sight. For a second, I considered waiting and following her anyway, but my phone buzzed in my pocket.

A customer was calling, asking if the store was open. Reluctantly, I sighed and turned back.

That evening, after I closed up shop, curiosity, once again, pushed aside caution. I locked up and retraced the route she had taken.

When I reached the corner where she had vanished earlier, I braced myself, turned, and found… nothing but a run-down, abandoned house.

The windows were boarded up, the paint peeled away in strips, and the porch sagged dangerously to one side.

It looked like no one had lived there in decades. But then I noticed the faint scuff of footsteps on the dusty path, fresh compared to the rest of the yard.

No. She had been there.

I pushed the door open carefully, wincing at the long screech of its hinges. My flashlight beam cut across cracked wallpaper and broken furniture.

In what had once been a living room, I found it: a thin mattress on the floor, surrounded by empty cans of baby formula. Next to it sat plastic bags stuffed with used diapers.

Could a child really be living here?

“Hello?” I called out. “Is someone here?”

Silence answered me. I tried again, louder this time, calling into every room I entered. Nothing.

I even forced myself to creep down into the basement, though every step of the stairs groaned as if threatening to collapse beneath me.

After circling the entire house, I came back to the mattress. The empty cans and bags were proof of something, someone. Yet the house was deserted.

I left quickly, stepping back into the night air with a shiver I couldn’t shake. On the walk home, my thoughts swirled like a storm.

If a baby had been there, where was it now? Was Miss Greene hiding something even darker than I imagined, or was she trying, in her strange and harsh way, to protect someone?

A week passed, and Miss Greene never returned to the store.

At first, I told myself she was just avoiding me after the confrontation, but as the days stretched, worry began to sink in.

No one else had seen her either. Neighbors shrugged when I asked, shaking their heads as if she’d never existed at all.

One afternoon, unable to ignore it any longer, I closed the shop early and walked to her house.

The small, weathered building looked the same as always, curtains drawn tight, garden left wild and untrimmed.

I rang the bell and called her name, but silence pressed back at me. I tried again, louder this time, but still nothing.

Then, just as I was about to leave, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Behind one of the curtains, someone pulled the fabric back for a split second.

Not Miss Greene, but a younger woman, and in her arms, a baby. She froze when she saw me, then quickly yanked the curtain shut.

I stepped closer to the door. “Hey! Who are you? Where’s Miss Greene?” I called out.

No answer.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll call the police!” I shouted.

A minute later, the door opened a crack, and the young woman stood there, clutching the baby tight against her chest.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t call the police.”

“Then tell me what’s happening. Where is Miss Greene?”

“She’ll be back soon,” the woman said, glancing nervously over my shoulder. “Please… come in. But make sure no one sees.”

Against my better judgment, I stepped inside. The living room was cluttered, the furniture worn, but the baby in her arms was clean, bundled in fresh clothes. He couldn’t have been more than six months old.

“Who are you?” I asked softly.

“My name’s Jessica,” she said.

I opened my mouth to ask more, but the door burst open, and Miss Greene stormed in, her eyes blazing when she saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

Jessica turned to her. “Did you get the formula?”

Miss Greene shook her head. “Not enough money.”

I looked from one to the other. “Okay, someone needs to explain this to me. I’m not leaving until you do.”

Miss Greene’s face hardened. “Get out before I call the cops on you.”

“No, you won’t. Because Jessica is terrified of the police. You don’t want to put her through that.”

Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. She swallowed hard, then spoke before Miss Greene could silence her.

“She found me,” she said quietly. “At the bus station. I had nowhere to go. My husband—” She broke off. “He was…bad for us. I ran away with Danny, and I couldn’t go to the police because he’d find me. So she took us in.”

“You’ve been living in that abandoned house?”

“But you made them run from there because you found them,” Miss Greene muttered.

Jessica nodded. “She’s been buying everything for the baby. Doing everything she can.”

Miss Greene looked away, her voice rough. “I never had a family of my own. I just wanted to do something good, for once.”

“But you can’t do this alone,” I said gently. “It’s too much for one person.”

“I’m not used to asking for help.”

“Then start now,” I said. “I can give you food, formula, whatever you need. And I know someone who can help with legal things, a friend who’s a family lawyer. You don’t have to hide forever.”

Jessica shook her head. “We can’t ask you for that. It’s too much.”

I stepped closer. “It’s not too much. My aunt raised me because my own father was abusive. I know what it feels like to live in fear. And I’m not going to stand by when I can do something.”

The room fell silent. Jessica’s eyes brimmed with gratitude, and even Miss Greene’s expression softened, though she quickly turned away as if embarrassed.

“You can stay at my place,” I offered. “I have a spare room. I’m gone most of the day at the shop, so you’ll have privacy. At least until we figure out the next step.”

Jessica’s grip on the baby tightened. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Completely.”

Miss Greene let out a long, weary sigh. “Maybe… maybe this is the right thing,” she whispered.

As Jessica rocked the baby gently in her arms, I realized the rumors had gotten it all wrong. Miss Greene wasn’t a witch or a monster.

She was simply a lonely woman who had chosen, finally, to be someone’s protector. And in that choice, she had given me the chance to do the same.

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