On a snowy Christmas Eve, the highway stretched endlessly before me, its icy silence only broken by the crunch of my tires. My mind was on my kids, Emily and Jake, waiting for me at my parents’ house. This was supposed to be a special Christmas, a chance to focus on them and move past the heartache of their father leaving us.

The curve in the road brought a surprising sight—an elderly man trudging along the snowy shoulder, clutching a battered suitcase. Snow clung to his threadbare coat, and his steps seemed heavy with exhaustion. Against every warning I’d ever heard, I slowed the car and rolled down the window.

“Sir, do you need help?” I called, my voice hesitant yet urgent.He stopped, his pale face and sunken eyes betraying how cold he truly was. “I’m trying to get to Milltown,” he rasped. “My family’s waiting for me.”“Milltown?” I frowned. “That’s hours away—on a good day. You’ll freeze out here.”

“Gotta make it,” he mumbled. “It’s Christmas.”“Get in,” I said, ignoring my own trepidation. “You can’t stay out in this cold.He hesitated, then climbed into the passenger seat, clutching his suitcase as though it held his life. “Thank you,” he whispered.