Sarah stepped closer and asked if he needed a doctor. The man struggled to open his eyes. He looked at her and gave a weak, barely perceptible nod. His face was etched with pain, but Sarah’s phone was dead, and she couldn’t call for help from the sidewalk.
She made a snap decision. She told him to lean on her and try to stand. With a monumental effort, the man rose, his weight nearly collapsing Sarah’s slight frame.
They took slow, agonizing steps up to her third-floor apartment. She cleared her sofa, covered it with an old quilt, and helped him lie down before rushing to plug in her phone.
Once it powered up, she called 911. The paramedics arrived shortly after. They checked his vitals and determined he was suffering from severe malnutrition and exhaustion. However, since he was stable and had no ID, they suggested he just needed rest and fluids rather than a hospital bed.
They left her with some basic instructions on how to rehydrate him. Sarah sat in her kitchen, wondering how she had ended up with a stranger in her living room when all she wanted was a quiet night.
She looked at the man—gaunt, dirty, and of an indeterminate age. With a sigh, she went to the stove and warmed up some chicken soup. She brought a bowl to the sofa and sat beside him. He watched her silently, his expression unreadable.
Sarah offered him a spoonful, but he gently nudged her hand away. With a shaky breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He took the bowl himself and began to eat slowly, savoring every drop. When he finished, he finally spoke, his voice raspy as he apologized for the trouble and promised to leave soon…
