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When I finished, I pulled the scarf from my shoulders\u2014a thick gray knit my husband, Ben, had given me years ago. It was my favorite, but he needed it more. Without a second thought, I draped it over his shoulders.<\/p>\n
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As I climbed the church steps, I noticed him\u2014a young man, no older than thirty, sitting hunched at the foot of the stairs. His coat was threadbare, his fingers red and raw as they fumbled with shoes barely held together by twine. His head was bare to the wind, his shoulders slumped in silent defeat.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I hesitated. What if he didn\u2019t want help? What if he was dangerous? But when he looked up, his hollow, dark eyes stopped me in my tracks. There was a fragility in his gaze that broke through my doubts. I crouched beside him, ignoring the cold stone biting at my knees.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi there,\u201d I said gently. \u201cCan I help with your shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes widened in surprise, as if he wasn\u2019t used to being noticed. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to\u2014\u201d he began.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet me,\u201d I interrupted, my voice firm but kind. I untied the knotted string holding his shoes together, adjusting them as best I could. My fingers stung from the cold, but it didn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n When I finished, I pulled the scarf from my shoulders\u2014a thick gray knit my husband, Ben, had given me years ago. It was my favorite, but he needed it more. Without a second thought, I draped it over his shoulders.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
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