Every summer, she quietly set out cold water for passing bikers, a small act of kindness no one questioned.

Sweating.

Quietly waiting.

It was just an ordinary plastic water bottle, the cheap kind you could buy by the case at any grocery store, but the label had been peeled halfway off, leaving cloudy adhesive marks along the side. The condensation rolling down its surface made a small dark patch on the dusty concrete beneath it.

There was no note.

No explanation.

No box asking for money.