I never planned on bringing a stranger home, let alone someone soaked to the bone under a flickering streetlamp. But that’s what happened.
It was one of those nights where the rain clings to your skin, the city feels extra lonely, and you start wondering what it’s all for. I spotted her on the corner near the old bakery—an older woman, hunched against the cold, motionless in the downpour. No begging sign. No pleas for help. Just… stillness.
Her calm unsettled me.
“Hey,” I called out, hesitating. “You okay?”
She lifted her head slowly. Her face was aged by time and struggle, but her eyes—sharp, steady—were something else. They reminded me of my mom’s. And I guess that was enough.
“I’m tired of shelters,” she said. “Tired of being moved like furniture.”
