THE BAKERY CLERKS LAUGHED AT A WEALTHY LADY BECAUSE SHE ONLY BOUGHT BREAD LATE AT NIGHT—WHEN IT WAS “BUY ONE, TAKE ONE”
It was nine o’clock in the evening at Berta’s Bakery—closing time.
From her luxury car stepped down Doña Remedios. She wore pearl earrings, an expensive blouse, and carried the unmistakable scent of wealth. But instead of buying right away, she simply stood by the shelves, glancing at her watch.
Inside the bakery, the clerks whispered among themselves, led by Vicky.
“There she is again—Madam Stingy,” Vicky scoffed.
“Just watch. She’s waiting for me to put up the ‘50% OFF’ sign before buying. So rich, yet she pinches pennies over bread!”
“Exactly,” another clerk added.
“She always buys all the leftovers. Probably feeds them to her dogs—or gives them to her helpers so she can save on groceries. So cheap!”
When Vicky finally taped up the “BUY 1 TAKE 1” sign, Doña Remedios immediately stepped forward.
“Miss, I’ll take everything that’s left. Spanish bread, ensaymada, pandesal—everything,” she ordered.
As Vicky packed four large bags of bread, she muttered complaints under her breath. When Doña Remedios left, the staff burst into laughter.
But Karding, the quiet baker in the back, felt uneasy.
He had seen sadness in the woman’s eyes—not the face of a miser.
That night, after closing the bakery, Karding rode his motorcycle home and spotted Doña Remedios’s car on the road.
Curiosity got the better of him.
“Where does she take all that bread every night?” he wondered.
Instead of turning into a subdivision, her car turned onto a dark road leading under a bridge.
Karding stopped at a distance and hid in the shadows.
The car door opened.
Doña Remedios stepped out, carrying the bags of bread.
Suddenly, ragged children emerged from cardboard shelters and carts.
“Grandma Ganda! Grandma Ganda!” the children shouted joyfully.
Karding watched as Doña Remedios knelt on the dirty pavement, uncaring if her expensive clothes got stained.
“Alright, line up properly,” she said gently.
“We have lots of bread tonight because I waited for the sale. You each get two pieces now! You’ll even have breakfast tomorrow!”
Karding heard her clearly.
“I waited for the sale… so each of you could have two.”
The truth hit him like a slap.
She wasn’t waiting for Buy One, Take One to save money for herself—
she was waiting so she could double the amount of bread she could give away for the same price.
More children fed.
More lives helped.
Karding went home heavy with guilt over the judgments made by his coworkers.
The next day at the bakery, Vicky was laughing again.
“I bet Madam Stingy will come again tonight! Get the stale bread ready—that’s what she likes!” she joked.
Suddenly—
BANG!
Karding slammed a tray of pandecoco onto the table.
Silence fell.
“Stop it,” Karding said firmly.
“Why are you so angry?” Vicky asked.
“I followed her last night,” Karding said.
“I followed Doña Remedios.”
“Oh yeah? Did you see her mansion filled with bread?” Vicky mocked.
“No,” Karding replied.
“I saw her under a bridge.”
He told them everything—
the hungry children,
the way she knelt on the dirt,
and the real reason she waited until closing time.
“She waits for the sale not because she’s stingy,” Karding said.
“But because every peso she saves means another child gets fed.
She endures being mocked and called cheap every night—
just to make sure street children don’t go hungry.”
Vicky turned pale.
The entire bakery fell silent.
Laughter turned into deep shame.
That night, at nine o’clock, Doña Remedios came again.
“Miss, is it on sale now? I’ll take everything,” she said with a smile, already expecting the usual eye-rolls.
But this time, Vicky didn’t scoff.
With tears in her eyes, she handed over the bags.
“Ma’am… all the display bread has already been packed.
And… we added two more bags.
They’re on the house. From the bakery.”
Doña Remedios was stunned.
“Really? Thank you! My grandchildren will be so happy!”
Vicky gently held her hand.
“We should be the ones thanking you, Ma’am.
We’re sorry… and thank you for your kindness.”
Doña Remedios left with a bright smile.
And from that day on, they no longer called her “Madam Stingy”—
They called her
THE ANGEL OF BREAD.