The Pizza Delivery Guy Brought Me Free Pizza Every Saturday, Until One Day I Saw a Note on the Box Saying, “I Know What You Did 50 Years Ago” — Story of the Day

I never knew who kept sending me pizza every Saturday, but it soon became the only bright spot in my lonely weeks. I waited for the doorbell each time, until one night I opened the box and saw the words: “I know what you did 50 years ago.” I realized the past I had buried was no longer safe.

We are all afraid of loneliness. I knew that feeling too well. I had no husband, no children, and even if I had wanted them, it would have been impossible.

A long time ago, illness had left me infertile, and over the years, that fact settled inside me like a stone I could never put down.

The only creature sharing my home was my cat, Oliver, and he barely tolerated me. Once a year, if I was lucky, he would let me scratch his ears.

I still worked even though I could have retired by now. It wasn’t that I loved my job so much.

I knew that no one else would pay my bills or fix the roof if it leaked. Relying on myself was the only option I had ever had.

As bleak as it sounds, the highlight of my week was pizza delivery. Every Saturday at exactly six in the evening, a box of hot pizza would arrive at my door.

I never placed the order myself, and I had no idea who paid for it. At first, the mystery unsettled me. Why would anyone buy food for a stranger?

But as the weeks turned into months, I began to think differently. Maybe there were still kind people in this world, people who wanted to brighten someone else’s life.

I let myself believe that, and I started looking forward to six o’clock more than anything else in the week.

The delivery guy, Ryan, was part of the ritual. He was young, always cheerful, with an easy smile that didn’t seem forced.

He had a habit of tossing out a quick joke or a silly comment before handing me the box. For a few minutes each Saturday, I didn’t feel invisible.

I wasn’t the lonely woman with a cat that hated her. I was just a customer, someone he saw, someone worth a smile.

That Saturday, I was already waiting by the door at 5:59 p.m. The rain outside was heavy, pounding against the roof, but right at six the bell rang.

I opened the door and there he was, grinning despite being soaked. He held out the box and said it was a new flavor the restaurant was testing.

“Well, at least something new will happen in my life,” I joked.

“Don’t say that. There’s always something new waiting to surprise you.”

“Not at my age.”

Ryan handed me the box and said, “You’re my favorite customer. Prettiest too.”

“That’s kind, but I can’t even leave you a tip. Money’s tight.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a tip. Just giving a compliment.”

“Then thank you. But maybe you could finally tell me who’s been buying me these pizzas all this time?”

Ryan shook his head. “The person wants to stay anonymous.”

He turned as if to go, but something in me resisted the end of the exchange. I hurried inside, rummaged in the closet, and came back with an old raincoat.

“Take this,” I said, holding it out. “You’ll catch your death out there in this storm.”

Ryan blinked, surprised, then accepted it with a shy smile.

“You must be such a caring mom or grandma.”

The words hit me like a slap. “I don’t have children.”

Ryan’s smile faltered. He mumbled a quiet 'thank you' and hurried back into the rain. I closed the door slowly, holding the warm pizza box in my hands, but feeling suddenly colder than before.

As I sat down at the table, I couldn’t help but think. Maybe if I hadn’t made one terrible mistake all those years ago, my life would not be so empty at that moment.

***

The next Saturday, I stood by the door at 5:59 p.m., just like always.

Six o’clock came, but no one rang the bell. I frowned, glanced at the clock, and told myself Ryan was probably running late.

Five minutes passed, then ten. I paced the hallway, checking the window every few seconds.

Outside, the storm was raging, lightning slicing across the sky, but Ryan had delivered in worse weather before. By the time forty minutes had crawled by, worry gnawed at me.

I went into the kitchen and pulled an old pizza box from the recycling bin. On the side was a phone number for the pizzeria. My fingers trembled as I dialed.

A young woman answered with the cheerful, rehearsed tone of customer service.

“This is Maya. How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m… I usually get deliveries from one of your drivers, Ryan. I just wanted to ask if he’s okay.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Ma’am, we can’t provide personal information about our employees,” she said firmly.

“I don’t need details,” I pleaded. “Just tell me he’s alright.”

“Yes, he’s fine,” she replied quickly, and before I could say another word, the line went dead.

I sat at the table, staring at the receiver, my mind buzzing with unease.

If Ryan was fine, why hadn’t he shown up?

I pressed my palms to my face, telling myself not to spiral. Maybe he’d gotten sick. Still, a knot twisted in my chest that wouldn’t loosen.

***

A week later, at exactly six, the doorbell finally rang. Relief washed over me as I hurried to open the door, but it vanished the moment I saw who was standing there.

A young woman in a red delivery jacket was holding the familiar white box.

“Pizza delivery for Evelyn?” she asked politely.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said, taking the box, but before she could turn away, I asked, “What happened to Ryan? He usually delivers here.”

“Ryan? Which one?”

“Tall, brown hair, always smiling,” I said quickly.

“Oh. Him. He doesn’t work here anymore. He quit,” she said, and then stepped back toward her car.

“Quit? When?” I called after her, but the wind snatched my words away.

She waved vaguely and disappeared into the rain.

Closing the door, I carried the box to the kitchen. I set it on the counter and opened the lid. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then my breath caught.

Inside, scrawled in thick black marker across the cardboard, were the words:

I Know What You Did 50 Years Ago...

The box slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the counter. My knees went weak, and I gripped the edge of the sink to steady myself.

Who could have written that? Who could possibly know?

I had buried that secret deep, sealed it away where no one could ever reach it. I had made sure of it.

Fifty years was a lifetime, long enough for memories to fade, for witnesses to vanish, for the truth to be erased.

And yet, there it was.

It wasn’t possible. No one was supposed to know. No one.

The following day, I would go to the pizzeria. I would demand answers, no matter how humiliating or desperate it looked.

I had to know who had been sending those pizzas all this time. And more importantly, I had to know who was behind that message.

***

The following morning, I arrived just after the place opened. A young woman stood behind the counter, tapping something into the register.

She looked up and smiled, though her expression faltered when she noticed my face.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I need to speak with your manager.”

Her eyes flickered with unease, but she nodded and disappeared into the back. A minute later, a tall man in a pressed shirt and a sour expression appeared.

“I’m Mr. Collins, the manager here,” he said briskly. “What can I do for you?”

“Someone has been sending me pizzas every week for months. I never ordered them myself. And last night, when I opened the box, there was a message inside. A disturbing one. I need to know who’s been paying for these orders.”

Mr. Collins frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t disclose customer information.”

“Please,” I begged. “I have to know who’s been doing this.”

But he had already turned away, striding back into the kitchen.

“Wait!” I cried. “You don’t understand! I need to know!”

When I looked back at the counter, the young woman was staring at me with sympathy.

“You’re Evelyn, right?” she asked softly.

I blinked. “How do you know my name?”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “Everyone here knew about you. You’re the woman Ryan used to deliver to every Saturday. The lonely lady with the cat.”

The words stung, but I nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Ryan was the one paying for the pizzas,” she said gently.

“Ryan?” I whispered. “Why would he do that?”

She shrugged. “He never said. If you want to find out more… I have his address.”

She scribbled on a scrap of paper and slid it across the counter. I muttered a shaky thank you and hurried out.

***

An hour later, I was standing at Ryan’s door. When he opened it and saw me, surprise flashed across his face.

“Evelyn? How did you find me?”

“Your coworker gave me the address,” I said quickly.

“What do you want?” His voice was colder than I had ever heard.

“Ryan… was it you? Did you write that message on the box?”

He stepped aside stiffly, and I entered. Inside, I looked around and saw family photographs on the walls.

Ryan with his parents, holidays, and birthdays. My eyes kept going back to his mother. She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Ryan returned with tea, but I couldn’t stop staring.

“Who is your mother?” I asked. “Why does she look so familiar to me?”

He exhaled heavily. “Because she’s your daughter. Claire.”

My heart stopped. “No… that’s impossible.”

“Didn’t you give up a baby girl for adoption 50 years ago?” he asked sharply.

I staggered. “No one was supposed to know.”

“No one did,” Ryan said. “But before my grandmother died, she told us everything. That’s how Mom and I found out.”

I stared at him, shaking. “So you searched for me?”

“I knew you were alone. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Then, when you said you never had children… it cut deep. Because it wasn’t true.”

“It was true,” I said, tears spilling. “I was never a mother to Claire. I was too young, too scared. I thought giving her up was the only way she’d have a chance at a better life.”

“Don’t you regret not finding her?”

“I do. But I didn’t deserve to. I was horrible. I thought she would hate me.”

“She doesn’t,” Ryan said softly. “She wants to meet you. And I want to know my grandmother.”

I covered my face with my hands, sobbing.

“Can I meet her?”

“She’ll be home from work in a few hours,” Ryan said gently.

I looked at him through tears. “Can I hug you?”

“Of course, Grandma.”

I broke down as Ryan wrapped his arms around me. After fifty years of silence and regret, I allowed myself to believe I might not be entirely alone anymore.

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