The rain had been falling all day, cold and endless 🌧️. The old woman sat by her window, knitting in silence, the ticking clock the only sound in her lonely apartment. It had been years since anyone had lived with her — her husband gone, her son grown and far away, and her days marked only by the routine of tea, prayer, and waiting.😨😱
That evening, there was a knock at the door. A soft, hesitant knock — not the kind you hear from neighbors or postmen. When she opened the door, a young man stood before her, drenched, shivering, his face pale and drawn.
“Ma’am,” he said softly, “please forgive me… I don’t mean to intrude. I just need a place to stay for the night. I have nowhere else to go.”
Something in his eyes — a mix of exhaustion and fear — moved her deeply. 💔 She hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside.
“Come in, my boy,” she said kindly. “You’ll catch your death out there.”
He entered quietly, clutching a small backpack. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, maybe younger. His clothes were worn thin, his shoes soaked through. When he smiled faintly, the old woman felt an ache in her heart — a reminder of her own son, who hadn’t visited in years.
She led him to the kitchen, poured him hot tea, and fried some potatoes with onions. “Eat,” she insisted, pushing the plate toward him. “You look half-starved.”
He thanked her shyly, barely meeting her eyes. “You’re very kind, ma’am. Nobody else would even talk to me today.”
That night, she showed him to the spare bedroom — her late son’s room, untouched for years. The smell of old books and dust hung in the air. She changed the sheets, set out a blanket, and smiled. “Sleep well, my dear. You’re safe here.”
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel alone. 🌙
But long after midnight, she couldn’t sleep. The storm had passed, but unease lingered in the stillness. The floorboards creaked, the old house breathing in the dark. Somewhere, a clock chimed two.
Then — a faint sound. A soft click.
The door to her room was opening.
Her eyes flew open, and in the dim glow of her bedside lamp, she saw a shadow move. The young man was standing in the doorway. His face was expressionless — cold, almost unfamiliar.
He stepped inside slowly, holding something in his hands. Her breath caught. The object looked soft, square — a pillow. 😨
Her pulse pounded in her ears as he came closer. “What… what are you doing up?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He didn’t answer. His eyes were distant, hollow. He stopped beside the bed, staring down at her, his breathing quick and shallow.
Then, in a voice low and rough, he murmured,
“It’s better this way… for both of us.”
Before she could react, he pressed the pillow down over her face.
She screamed — a desperate, muffled cry — and began to struggle. Her frail hands clawed at his arms, her body shaking with terror. 😱 The room filled with the violent rustle of fabric, her gasps, his harsh breathing.
“Stop fighting!” he hissed. “Just stop!”
But she didn’t. She fought with every bit of strength her old body had left. The pillow slipped, she caught a breath, and with one final effort, she shouted:
“Help! Someone help me!”
Her cry pierced the night.
Within seconds, footsteps thundered in the hallway — neighbors who had heard her screams. The door burst open. The young man froze like a trapped animal, his face drained of color. The pillow fell from his hands.
One of the neighbors lunged at him while another called the police. The old woman sobbed, trembling, clutching her chest as she was helped out of bed. 😭
When the officers arrived, they questioned the young man — and the truth that emerged chilled everyone to the bone.
He wasn’t who he claimed to be. The name he had given was false. His parents had died mysteriously years earlier, under circumstances that were never solved — and he had been the only witness. Since then, he had drifted from town to town, deceiving elderly people into letting him stay with them. Each time, he gained their trust… and then something terrible would happen.
This time, he had chosen her.
When asked why he had tried to kill her, he simply said:
“I just wanted a place to belong. But she wouldn’t stop talking about her son. I got angry… I don’t even know why.”
The police took him away that night. The old woman sat in silence, clutching her rosary, her hands shaking. Outside, dawn began to rise — soft light filtering through the curtains.
She wept — not only for what almost happened, but for the boy himself. Somewhere, beneath his madness, she had seen a lonely child.
But one truth remained clear: sometimes, the kindness that saves another’s life can almost cost you your own. 💔🙏
