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<\/span><\/a><\/p>\nShe sold vegetables from her own garden. Everything on her crates had been grown by her own hands. She planted, watered, and cared for them, spending her last money on seeds and fertilizer. She was already over seventy years old, her back ached, her hands trembled, but she still went to the market early every morning.<\/p>\n
The locals had known her for a long time. Some just greeted her, others deliberately bought from her, even if it was a bit more expensive. Not out of pity, but out of respect for her hard work.<\/p>\n
That day, a man in an expensive suit appeared at the market. Clean shoes, a costly watch, a confident stride. He stood out sharply among ordinary people. He approached the elderly woman, looked at the vegetables, and asked the price with a mocking smile.<\/p>\n
When the woman calmly named the amount, the man\u2019s face suddenly changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo much money for smelly tomatoes? Are you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy smelly, my son? They\u2019re fresh. I grew them myself,\u201d she replied quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor that money, I could buy a ton of tomatoes like these,\u201d he snapped angrily.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your choice, my grandson.\u201d<\/p>\n
Those words seemed to make him explode from the inside.<\/p>\n