As I trudge through the snow, my thoughts drift to my late husband, Jason. He would have loved a night like this, probably coaxing the kids into an impromptu snowball fight. But I’m almost home now, and home means five children who need me.

Suddenly, a shape on a nearby bench jolts me from my memories. It’s an elderly woman, huddled and shivering in the cold. My instincts warn me that I hardly have enough to provide for my own family, let alone a stranger. But I can’t just walk by.

“Ma’am?” I call out, edging closer. “Are you alright?”
She lifts her face, her eyes tired but oddly regal. Her thin smile trembles. “Just resting, dear,” she says in a subdued voice.

No one “rests” on a bench in the dead of winter unless they have nowhere to go. My late husband’s voice echoes in my head, reminding me that nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve. Without hesitation, I offer my hand. “My house isn’t much, but it’s warm, and there’s soup on the stove. Please, come with me.”