Part 1: The Night I Opened the Door

Twenty years ago, I didn’t think of myself as brave or generous. I wasn’t trying to change anyone’s life. I believed I was simply doing what any decent person would do when faced with someone in need.

It turns out, the moments we think are small often carry the longest shadows.

That night is still clear in my memory, even after all this time. The rain was relentless, pounding against the windows so hard it blurred the streetlights into watery smears. Thunder rolled low and heavy, rattling the glass. I remember standing in my small kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, thinking about nothing more important than a quiet cup of tea before bed.

Then I heard it.

A knock.

At first, it was so faint I almost ignored it. It sounded more like the wind pushing something loose against the door. I hesitated, heart beating a little faster. I was young, living alone, and caution had already been taught into me by years of warnings and news stories.

The knock came again. Softer this time. Almost pleading.

I walked to the door and opened it just a crack.

A man fell forward, catching himself on the doorframe before collapsing against it.

A Stranger in the Storm

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