A week passed. I kept the note tucked in the kitchen drawer, unsure of what to do. Then one morning, while sipping coffee at the window, I sent him a short message.
Not asking for more repairs.
He replied almost immediately: “I’d be honored.”
When he arrived, he looked a bit nervous, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers—clearly picked along the roadside. It was the kindest gesture I’d seen in a long time.
We sat on the porch, my son beside us, cups of tea in hand. The conversation started slow, but gradually, it came alive.
He told us about moving to our town after losing his wife to cancer. About how difficult it had been to start over in a new place where no one knew him—not as a husband, not as a man in mourning, just as the “repair guy.”
He said he didn’t expect anyone to care. That most people barely looked him in the eye. And that the tea I offered reminded him, just for a moment, of the life he once had.
From Stranger to Friend
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