The rain bit through my coat as I balanced grocery bags and fought to keep my scarf in place. Halfway through the parking lot, a gravelly voice called out: “Hey, sweetheart, you dropped your wallet!”
I turned to see an older man sitting on the curb, wet and weary, holding my wallet with a gentle smile.
“Oh my gosh, thank you so much!” I breathed out.
He shrugged, eyes kind. “Don’t mention it,” he said, voice gruff but soft. I hesitated, caught by the loneliness in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I blurted.
He chuckled dryly. “As good as I can be. Don’t have much to lose.” The rain seeped around us, and I couldn’t ignore the chill in the air—or in his bones.
“Here,” I said, extending my hand. “Let’s get you someplace dry.” In seconds, we were in my car. Once he stowed himself inside, I noticed the gold watch strapped to his wrist—faded but unmistakable.
My heart slammed into my ribs as a wave of memory flooded me. That watch… I couldn’t believe it. “Where—where did you get that watch?” I stammered.
He glanced at it and frowned. “Had it a long time.” Then, recognizing reality slam into him, he sat silently. Tears pricked my eyes. That watch belonged to my late father—the one piece I thought was gone forever. This kind stranger holding a simple object in a million-dollar box just changed everything. In that moment, he wasn’t a random man asking for help. He was holding something irreplaceable.
