𝗥𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗿𝗺, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗗𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗛𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗢𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗞𝗲𝘆𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗭𝗘𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗚𝗚𝗔𝗥 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗦𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱. 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗛𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗦𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁, 𝗛𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗗…

Michael looked around. How many times had he promised himself that he should clean up? But… these thoughts only came in the morning, when he was getting ready for work. By evening… he would come home with a bottle of whiskey, drink it quickly, and pass out.

He had been living like this for a year. Maybe even longer. Ever since Anna left him and moved to the city in search of a better life…

That day, the frost was so strong it made his nose numb. Once again, he’d have to struggle to start his tractor. He had argued countless times with his boss about the guard not heating the garage.

“Excuse me!”

He flinched. It was still dark outside, and he wasn’t expecting to hear an unfamiliar voice in his yard at this hour. He turned abruptly.

In front of him stood a woman—or maybe a girl—and behind her, a small child huddled close.

“God, what are you doing here at this hour, in this freezing cold? And with a child!”

The woman hesitated, then shrugged uncertainly.

“It just happened. Could you tell us if there’s a place where we can stay for a while? Jonathan is tired. We just… don’t have any money.”

Michael tried to see her face better.

“Come to my house. I’ll be back after six. It’s warm inside. If you’re cold, you can light the stove.”

It never crossed his mind that they were strangers, that they might rob him.

The day passed quickly. The unease crept in towards the evening, when, out of habit, he stopped by the store—but this time, he didn’t linger.

He picked up his usual half-liter bottle but added some candy to his purchase. He wasn’t sure if his guests were still there. Maybe they had just warmed up and moved on.

There was light in the house. It was so unusual, so foreign, that Michael felt a sudden wave of shame in his chest. He approached the window cautiously and peeked inside.

His face stretched in shock.

What he saw was almost too surreal to believe: the place was clean. Gleaming floors, tidied-up kitchen counters, and the bitter smell of spilled alcohol had been replaced by the comforting aroma of baked bread. He’d never seen his house so neat since Anna left him. A single lamp illuminated the small living room, where the woman was quietly folding the last of his clothes. The child—Jonathan—sat on the old couch, carefully turning the pages of a tattered picture book Michael hadn’t even realized he owned.

He watched for a few moments, heart pounding. Slowly, he drew a breath, stepped away from the window, and opened the door. His face was still stung by the frosty wind, but a wave of warmth hit him as soon as he entered.

Immediately, both the woman and the child looked up. Their faces were full of uncertainty—like they half-expected him to be angry. Michael swallowed a lump in his throat.

“H-hey. Uh… so… I’m back,” he said awkwardly, fumbling for the right words. “I see you… you cleaned up.”

The woman set a neatly folded shirt aside and gave a shy nod. “I hope you don’t mind. Jonathan fell asleep earlier, so I thought I’d tidy up to say thank you.

Michael cleared his throat and managed an embarrassed smile. “Not at all. Actually, thank you. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it.”

He glanced at the child. Jonathan was no older than five or six, with big curious eyes. The boy gave a small, polite smile, still clutching the picture book. “Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi,” Michael replied, trying to remember the last time a child had spoken to him so gently. His nephews visited him a few times before Anna left, but even those memories felt distant and blurred.

He set the candy on the table. “I, uh, got these,” he said, pushing the small bag across. Jonathan’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t rush to take them. He glanced at his mother first, who nodded permission, and only then did he reach out with a delighted grin.

The woman pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Naomi, by the way,” she said. “And this is Jonathan.”

Michael extended his hand. “Michael.”

They shook hands gently, both uncertain, both feeling the tension of this strange situation. Here she was, a young mother who’d been left out in the cold with her son. And here he was, a man whose life had been spiraling since losing the woman he loved.

Later that evening, Naomi surprised him by offering to warm up some soup. She’d found potatoes, a couple of shriveled carrots, and some onions in his pantry, thrown together a simple meal, and let it simmer on the stove. For Michael, it was the first time in what felt like ages that someone had cooked in his kitchen.

As they sat down at the small wooden table, he cracked open his bottle but paused. Watching Jonathan blow on his soup to cool it, Michael suddenly felt self-conscious about drinking whiskey in front of the boy. He corked it back up, setting it aside.

Naomi noticed and gave him a soft smile but didn’t say anything. They ate quietly, exchanging only simple questions. Naomi didn’t offer many details—only that they were traveling through to find work, and they’d been promised a bus route that morning, but they missed it. Money had run out. She had no idea where else to go.

Michael nodded, absorbing it all. He remembered how Anna had told him time and time again that kindness was free, but it was seldom easy. Tonight, letting a stranger into his home felt like the only right thing he’d done in months.