One cold evening after work, I noticed a homeless man lingering outside. He looked worn but quiet, and when I spoke to him, he said he had no home — just a patch of sidewalk out of the wind.
I brought him a bowl of hot soup and gave him a spot on the covered veranda. He ate quietly and left without a word. I felt good. I thought I’d done the right thing.
But then… he came back. The next day. And the next. Sitting in the same place, waiting.
I kept feeding him, feeling responsible. But I couldn’t afford it anymore. Customers complained. My job was on the line.
With a heavy heart, I found him a shelter — warm, safe, with regular meals. He’s there now, taken care of.
But I still wrestle with guilt. Did I help him… or abandon him?
Maybe both. Maybe kindness doesn’t always come without pain.
