Last Christmas Eve, I thought I was doing something kind when I brought a young man inside to escape the cold. But as the night unfolded, I realized the true meaning of giving—and discovered something that would change my life forever.
It was a quiet evening when I came back from the cemetery, where I had visited my late husband Michael’s grave, as I did every Christmas. The snow was falling softly, and the wind carried a cold that seemed to seep into my bones. Standing there, with my coat wrapped tightly around me, I couldn’t help but miss Michael more than ever.
But this year, the loneliness was even heavier. My son, David, had called earlier, his voice filled with regret.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. Lily’s not feeling well, and we don’t want to risk traveling with her. We’ll come as soon as she’s better, I promise.”
I smiled through the disappointment. “Take care of her. That’s what’s important.”
The house felt emptier than ever as I walked in. I tried to distract myself by tidying up, but the sadness lingered, like the snow that kept falling outside.
That was when I saw him. A young man, hunched by a streetlamp, shivering in the cold. At first, I thought it was just a shadow, but as I got closer, I realized he was sitting on the curb, his clothes ill-suited for the weather.
Something inside me urged me to stop. I rolled down the window.
“Are you alright?” I called out. “Why are you out here in this cold?”
He looked up, his brown eyes locking with mine. They seemed so distant, yet filled with unspoken pain.
“I… I have nowhere else to go,” he said quietly.
Without thinking, I opened the door. “Get in. You’ll freeze out here.”
His expression softened with surprise, but after a pause, he stood up, brushing snow from his pants, and climbed into the car.
“What’s your name?” I asked, turning up the heat.
“Carlos,” he replied, his voice unsure.
“Well, Carlos,” I said, “you’re coming home with me tonight. No one should be out in this cold.”
He didn’t say anything, but he nodded slightly, a silent acceptance.
At my house, I gave him some old clothes of my son’s and pointed him toward the bathroom. “Get warm,” I said.
As he showered, I made hot cocoa, the kind I used to make for Lily when she was younger. When he came out, dressed in an oversized sweater, he looked younger somehow—softer.
“You remind me of my son,” I told him as I sat down with my cup of tea. “Maybe that’s why I stopped.”
He gave me a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, but you did. I’ll never forget it.”
His words meant more to me than I expected.
Continue reading on next page…