I Always Gave a Few Dollars to a Homeless Man on My Way to Work — on Christmas Eve, He Said, ‘Don’t Go Home Today…There’s Something You Don’t Know!’

Just him, sitting straight, hands clasped.

He stood when he saw me.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said.

“Sit?”

I sat at the far end of the bench, my pulse loud in my ears.

“You said you’d explain,” I said. “Start talking.”

He nodded.

“My name is Robert,” he said. “And I knew your husband.

Long before you did.”

My chest tightened.

“You’re going to have to prove that,” I said.

“We worked construction together,” he said. “Back when he went by his middle name. Daniel.

Said it sounded tougher.”

I froze.

Evan’s middle name was Daniel. I hadn’t told anyone at work that.

“He brought leftovers in plastic containers with tape labels from his mom,” Robert added. “He forced us to listen to ’80s rock every Friday.

We hated it.”

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