And she burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I stared at her, completely confused.
“My name is Carol,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I… I knew your husband. Thomas.”
The name hit me like a shock.
“He and I went to high school together,” she continued shakily. “We dated for a while back then. But we stayed friends all these years.”
I blinked, trying to understand.
“I heard what happened,” she said softly. “About the house. About your stepson.”
My chest tightened.
Carol looked down at the small envelope clutched in her hands.
“I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you,” she admitted. “I didn’t know how to approach you without making things awkward.”
Then she held out the envelope.
Inside were a set of keys.
“My sister owns a small apartment,” she explained. “It’s been empty for months. When I told her what happened to you, she insisted.”
I stared at the keys, stunned.
“She wants you to stay there,” Carol said gently. “No rent. No pressure. Just until you get back on your feet.”
“Why?” I whispered.
Carol smiled through tears.
“Years ago, our family went through a terrible financial crisis. We were about to lose everything.”
She paused.
“Your husband stepped in and helped us. He never asked for anything in return.”
Her voice softened.
