“Because everyone deserves a second chance, a real one.”
He nodded, and I told him to follow me.
There was a lot to do to help him get back on his feet, and with my husband being a lawyer, I knew we could help him. But first, I wanted to get to know him, so I invited him to a café, introduced myself properly, and learned his name was Victor.
Over two cups of coffee, a shared berry pie, plus a pup treat for his dog, Lucky, Victor shared how he’d lost everything. He’d been a truck driver with a wife and a daughter.
One rainy night, a car swerved into his lane.
The accident left him with a shattered leg and crushing medical debt. When he couldn’t find another job, his wife took their daughter and left.
Despite his injuries, his company refused to pay disability benefits. And eventually, depression swallowed him whole.
“That day at Lucy’s,” he confessed, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup, “I was planning to end it all.
But you smiled at me. Treated me like a human being. It gave me one more day.
Then another. Then another. Eventually, I found Lucky abandoned, and I kept going.
I didn’t feel so alone.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “And now here you are again,” he finished. “Just when this rough weather had me wondering if I should let someone adopt my dog.”
I shook my head as tears welled up in my eyes.
“No, you don’t have to do that. I’m here. Lucky is not going anywhere without you.”
***
That night, I contacted a local shelter and secured a spot for Victor and his dog.
I also started a GoFundMe for new clothes and essentials.
My children helped create the social media posts. Additionally, one of Tom’s colleagues specialized in disability benefits litigation and was eager to take Victor’s case pro bono.
Once that was settled, we helped Victor replace his identification and important documents, which had been stolen while he was sleeping on a park bench.
It took us another month to find him a proper room to rent near the shelter. With a new address, he secured a job at a factory warehouse, where his supervisor allowed Lucky inside; the dog quickly became the unofficial mascot of the morning shift.
On my birthday the following year, my doorbell rang.
Victor stood there, holding a chocolate cake from the local bakery.
He looked clean-shaven and well-dressed, and his smile radiated a confidence he had never had before. Even Lucky wore a new red collar.
His eyes shone with gratitude as he said, “You’ve saved my life three times now — at the café, at the shawarma stand, and with everything you’ve done since. I’ll never forget it.
I wanted to bring you this cake, but it’s really the least I could do for the hero who was born on this day.”
I smiled, refusing to start crying again, and invited him inside.
As my family shared cake and conversation with our friend, I thought about how close I’d come to walking past him that cold evening, too busy with my own problems to notice someone else’s pain.
How many other Victors were out there waiting for someone to see them?
That’s why I often repeated my grandmother’s words to Amy and Derek, reminding them to be kind always and take every opportunity to make the world a little less harsh.
You never know if it’ll be a lifeline for someone.
