It was one of those gray, bone-chilling afternoons that somehow makes everything feel heavier. I was standing in the kitchen, mindlessly wiping down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time that day, when it all hit me at once. The life I was living didn’t feel like mine anymore. And Carter—he hadn’t made it any easier.
That morning had been just another repeat of the same old pattern. I struggled to get out of bed, my pregnant body aching, while Carter greeted me with his usual cold sarcasm.
“Nice of you to finally wake up,” he muttered, barely looking at me.
Once upon a time, I thought I’d married the man of my dreams—gentle, dependable, loving. But over the years, that image shattered. Now all I saw was someone short-tempered and critical, whose voice always held a sharp edge. The man who once made me feel safe now made me feel like I was constantly walking on eggshells.
Even breakfast had become another battlefield. No matter what I cooked or cleaned, nothing pleased him.
“Burnt again? You always overdo the eggs,” he scoffed, not even glancing up from his phone.
His words pierced, but I’d learned to bite my tongue. What good would it do? His approval was always out of reach.
When he finally left for work, I could barely breathe. I threw on my sneakers, grabbed my bag, and headed out. I needed to be anywhere but here. A walk to the nearby grocery store seemed like the smallest escape, a sliver of relief.
The cold air outside hit me hard, but at least it cleared my mind a little. As I walked through the parking lot, something—or someone—caught my eye.
A woman stood near a cart filled with old blankets and tattered belongings. She held a sign that read “Homeless and Hungry.”
She didn’t fit the typical picture people paint of homelessness. Her clothes were worn but not filthy, and despite the messiness, her hair looked carefully pulled back. But what really stood out were her eyes—full of quiet strength and unspoken pain.
Without even thinking, I found myself walking toward her.
“Is there anything you need?” I asked gently.
She met my eyes and gave a tired but kind smile.
“Honey, if I started listing what I need, we’d be here ‘til morning,” she said with a soft chuckle.
There was something so real about her—no theatrics, no begging. Just a woman who had clearly survived more than most ever will.
“Would you like some food? Or water?” I asked.