“De nada,” I said, my Spanish a little rusty. “It’s Christmas. Everyone deserves to be warm.”
We didn’t talk much after that, and I didn’t press him for details about his life. But as the evening wore on, I knew I had done something right.
I showed him to the guest room before heading to bed. “If you need anything, just knock,” I told him.
Later, in the stillness of the night, I was startled awake by a soft creak of the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat.
Standing in my doorway was Carlos, his face hard to read in the dim light. In his hand, he held something small, shining.
“STOP!” I exclaimed, my voice shaking. “What are you doing?”
Carlos froze, his eyes wide. Then, in a calm voice, he lifted the object into the light.
It was my heart medication. “You didn’t take this,” he said. “I saw it on the counter. My grandmother used to take the same pills every night.”
A wave of relief washed over me, and I let out a shaky breath. “I… I forgot. Thank you.”
He nodded and placed the bottle on my nightstand, then quietly stepped back. “Good night,” he said.
The next morning, I made pancakes, and beside Carlos’s plate, I placed a small gift.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, smiling as he sat down.
He eyed the box cautiously. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” I encouraged.
Inside was a simple, handmade scarf, red and white, something I had knitted long ago.
“Thank you,” Carlos whispered, his fingers gently tracing the yarn before wrapping it around his neck.
We ate together in silence for a while, but eventually, he stood up to leave.
“I should go,” he said, his hand on the door. “I’m grateful, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Where will you go?” I asked, frowning.
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Wait,” I said, my heart prompting me. “Why don’t you stay? I could use the company. Help me around the house. You’re welcome to stay.”
Carlos looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Really?”
“Really. You can stay here in exchange for helping out. What do you think?”
He smiled, finally letting his bag slip from his shoulder. “I’d like that.”
And just like that, I gained a housemate.
As the weeks passed, we found a new rhythm. Carlos was quiet, respectful, and always kept to himself, but I felt like I had someone to share the space with again. On New Year’s Eve, we watched fireworks together, sipping apple cider.
One evening, sitting by the fire, he shared his story. His parents had kicked him out when he chose a different career path. A former roommate had stolen his savings, and soon after, he lost his job. He had no place to go.
“I would’ve frozen out there if not for you,” he admitted.
“You’re safe now,” I said, squeezing his hand.
And now, a year later, Carlos is still here. With my help, he found a job, an apartment, and a fresh start. He’s become part of our family, visiting often and bringing laughter into my home. He’s even formed a bond with my son and granddaughter.
As we decorate the Christmas tree together, I realize something: Carlos is no longer a stranger. He’s family.
And while he might say I saved his life that night, I know the truth—he saved mine.