On a snowy Christmas Eve, the highway stretched endlessly, the only sound being the crunch of my tires. My thoughts were on my kids, Emily and Jake, waiting for me at my parents’ house. This was supposed to be a special Christmas, a time to focus on them and leave behind the pain of their father leaving us.
Then I saw him—a frail elderly man trudging along the icy road, clutching a battered suitcase. His coat was threadbare, and his steps heavy with fatigue. Against all warnings, I slowed the car and rolled down the window.
“Sir, do you need help?” I called out, my voice hesitant but urgent.
He stopped, his pale face and sunken eyes revealing how cold he was. “I’m trying to get to Milltown,” he rasped. “My family’s waiting for me.”
“Milltown?” I frowned. “That’s hours away, especially in this weather. You’ll freeze out here.”
“Gotta make it,” he muttered. “It’s Christmas.”
“Get in,” I said, ignoring my own fears. “You can’t stay out in this cold.”
He hesitated but then climbed in, clutching his suitcase like it was his only possession. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“I’m Maria,” I said, trying to ease the tension. “What’s your name?”
“Frank,” he replied.
The drive was quiet at first. Frank stared out the window, his coat far too thin for the weather. I turned up the heat, hoping it would help warm his trembling hands.
“You can stay at my parents’ place tonight,” I offered. “Milltown’s too far for tonight.”
Frank’s lips quivered into a small smile. “That’s more kindness than I’ve seen in a long time. Thank you.”
When we arrived, my parents welcomed him with cautious warmth. Frank clutched his suitcase, as though it were his lifeline. He thanked us again as we showed him to the guest room.
Continue reading on next page…