My grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary was last Wednesday.

In keeping with their custom, my grandma Doris wanted to commemorate the date of my grandfather Walter’s death, which occurred two years ago.

Wearing the navy blouse and pearl brooch he had given her, she decided to go to the same restaurant where they had celebrated each year. Even if it was just for one night, it gave her a chance to feel close to him once more.

She saved just enough for the bus cost, ordered their normal lunch, and left a twenty percent tip—everything she could afford. However, Jessica, her waiter, cruelly remarked about why she was “alone at her age” and loudly ridiculed her for leaving “too little” tip.

People looked around. Disgraced, my grandma packed up her belongings and walked home in silence, crying as she went eight blocks.

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