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!’

His jacket on the chair.

His shoes by the door.

His toothbrush beside mine, like he was just running late.

But the mortgage didn’t care I was shattered, so I took a job as an assistant librarian at the town library.

Not glamorous, but quiet.

I shelved books, fixed printer jams, and tried not to cry in the stacks.

That’s where I first saw him.

An older man on the bench by the library gate.

Gray hair under a knit cap, worn brown coat, gloves with the fingers cut off.

Always reading the same folded newspaper.

The first week, I walked past him.

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