I worked at a fast food restaurant when a woman left a Louis Vuitton bag on one of the tables. I turned it in to lost and found, fully expecting her to rush back. Designer bags don’t just get forgotten—at least, that’s what I thought.
But hours turned into days. Days turned into a month. The bag sat untouched among umbrellas and water bottles, looking strangely out of place. One afternoon, my manager shrugged and said, “If she hasn’t come back by now, you can keep it. We followed procedure.”
Nervously, I unzipped it—expecting a wallet or keys.
Instead, there was only a folded note.
If you found this, you are meant to receive it. This bag represents a fresh start. Take what you need moving forward, and let go of everything that no longer serves you.
I stared at it for a long time. At the time, I was exhausted—working double shifts, scraping by, feeling stuck with no real direction. And somehow, those words felt painfully personal.
Over the next few weeks, I didn’t think much about the bag—but I thought a lot about the note. It echoed during slow shifts and late nights. Eventually, I updated my résumé. I started applying elsewhere. I gave myself permission to want more.
A few months later, I landed a better job with steady hours and real growth.
On my last day, I reread the note one final time. Then I donated the bag to a local women’s center, hoping it might inspire someone else.
It wasn’t a gift of luxury—it was a reminder that new beginnings sometimes arrive exactly when you’re ready.
