Even though I had walked past other strangers before, held back by a sense of fear or uncertainty, this time I found myself rolling down the window. Maybe it was the void I felt inside, the yearning for my family, or the recollection of Martin’s generosity that stirred something deep within me. Something nudged me forward.
“Are you okay?”“I shouted, my voice rising above the breeze.” “You’re going to freeze out here.”
The young man raised his head, locking eyes with me. His eyes were a rich shade of brown, filled with intensity yet carrying a gentle warmth that was hard to ignore. Snow rested gently in his hair and on his shoulders. He just stood there, staring for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was faint. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said, his breath visible in the chilly air.
I thought about the danger of letting someone I did not know inside, but my empathy won out over my worries. “Let’s go,” I said, as I unlocked the passenger door. “You can’t spend the night out here, not on Christmas Eve.”
He paused for a moment, and I began to wonder if he was going to say no. Then, slowly, he rose, brushed snow from his worn pants, and climbed inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
“I’m Joan,” I said, adjusting the thermostat to warm up the room. “And you are?”
“Marcus,” he said softly.
The ride back to my house was pretty quiet, with hardly any words exchanged between us. The gentle hum of the heater and the soft crunch of tires on the snow created our only soundtrack. I could feel the tension in him, the doubt hanging in the air. When we arrived, I handed him some of Luke’s old clothing I kept tucked away—oversized sweaters and warm trousers that no one used anymore. “You’ll find the bathroom just down the hall,” I mentioned. “Feel free to take your time to warm up.”
As Marcus tidied up, I found myself stirring hot cocoa on the stovetop, tossing in a handful of marshmallows that I usually reserved for Anna. When he finally showed up again—his hair fresh, his face no longer tight from the chill—he seemed younger and, in a way, more exposed. He sank into the couch, cradling the mug with both hands as if it were his only connection to the world.
“You kind of remind me of my son,” I said, observing him as he took a sip of the cocoa. “I don’t know why—maybe it’s your quiet way, or something kind in your eyes.”
He tried to muster a small smile, but there was still a hint of caution in the way he held himself. “I really appreciate you doing this,” he said quietly. “You didn’t need to stop.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I remarked. “Everyone deserves to feel included and cared for.”
I felt a strong urge to inquire about his history, to understand what had brought him to that curb on such a cold December night. Yet, when I softly inquired, he retreated into a quiet reserve. I decided to just let it go. We watched an old holiday movie, the kind I’d normally watch with Anna curled up beside me, and when it grew late, I showed him to the guest room.
“Have a good night,” I said. “If you need anything, feel free to knock.”
He thanked me, and I caught a hint of gratitude in his eyes before he closed the door.
I settled into my own bed, wrapped in a cozy quilt, attempting to unwind. But just as sleep was about to claim me, I heard the creak of floorboards in the hallway. My heart stuttered, and I sat up, muscles tensing. Marcus stood in my doorway, the soft glow from the hallway casting a shadow around him. I was suddenly wide awake at the sight. Was I foolish to trust him so easily?
He moved closer, his silhouette looming large. I saw something in his hand—a bottle, maybe? My heart raced. I shouted, panic raw in my voice, “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”
Marcus froze, startled. He held out the object, his voice calm but urgent. “It’s okay, there’s no need to be scared,” he reassured her. “You left this on the counter.” As he stepped into a beam of light, I saw it was my bottle of heart medication. He set it down softly on the nightstand. “My grandmother took these every night. When I saw them, I wondered if you had forgotten.
I felt a mix of shame and relief flooding through me. I had thought the worst, but he was just trying to look out for me. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “Thank you.”
He nodded and stepped back, leaving me with my swirling thoughts. I gazed at that bottle for what felt like ages, a mix of embarrassment over my fear and appreciation for his kindness swirling inside me.
The following morning, the bright winter sunlight poured into the kitchen while I prepared blueberry pancakes—something special I had been looking forward to. Marcus walked up to the table with a hint of hesitation, almost as if he was uncertain about how he would be received. “Merry Christmas,” I said, pushing a small gift box toward him.
He blinked at me, surprised. “What is this?””
“Go ahead and open it,” I urged.
Inside was a red and cream knitted scarf, one I had crafted a long time ago. I had always struggled to find the right occasion to wear it, but now it felt just right for him. He caressed the yarn softly before wrapping it around his neck. “Thank you,” he said softly, eyes shining with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.
We ate in silence at first, the pancakes filling the room with the scent of comfort and home. After a while, Marcus stood and picked up a worn duffel bag he’d set by the door. “I appreciate everything,” he said, voice uneven. “I really should be on my way.”
“Where are you headed?”” I asked, suddenly uneasy.
He hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “I’ll come up with a solution.”
A heaviness settled in my chest. It was Christmas Day—he really shouldn’t be out there, aimlessly wandering in the cold once more. “Could you stay a little longer?” I asked softly. “If you’d like. You can help around the house, and I could use the company. Maybe, in time, we’ll figure out a way for you to get back on your feet.”
His surprise was palpable. “You mean it?”
“I do,” I replied. “I know it’s not a lot, but it’s yours if you’d like it.”
Marcus set down his bag and gave a small, hopeful nod.
As the weeks went by, we settled into a comfortable routine. He assisted me with errands and tasks in the yard, and I ensured he had a cozy place to sleep and good meals to eat. We saw the new year in together, just the two of us, sipping tea by the fireplace while distant fireworks whispered across the night sky.
Marcus finally decided to share his story in January. Gradually, he opened up about how his family had turned their backs on him for pursuing a passion in art instead of the career they wanted for him. How he ended up with a roommate who stole everything, leaving him in debt he couldn’t repay. How he lost his job and eventually found himself on that curb, just trying to survive another icy night.
I listened with tears in my eyes, my hand resting on his. “You’re safe here,” I said softly.
