I had more money and possessions than I could ever dreamed, and I lived in a world of luxury. Still, the emptiness of my spirit ached. I was alone at the age of sixty-one. Perhaps this was all existence has to offer, I reasoned.

 

I then noticed Lexi, a destitute woman sorting through rubbish. I was moved by her determination. I sensed a connection that I couldn’t explain, so I stopped.

 

 

 

 

“Need assistance?” I inquired. It was odd how faint my voice was.

 

Despite her suspicious expressions, she accepted my offer. She stayed in my garage, which I converted into a guest house, after I brought her to my property.

 

During meals, Lexi shared her story. She was an artist who was broken by her life. her show’s closure, her husband’s treachery, and her own subsequent decline.

 

 

 

 

As I listened, I was astounded by her strength. Her humor and good humor brightened my gloomy surroundings, and our conversations made me feel better.

 

However, I discovered some unsettling artworks in the garage one awful afternoon. They were warped images of myself. Many graves, blood, and shackles. My heart was broken.

 

I discussed it with Lexi that evening. She apologized and expressed her anger and distress. I couldn’t forgive because I felt duped.

 

 

 

 

The following morning, I gave her money to start anew and took her to a shelter. A few weeks later, I experienced a pain I had never experienced before: loss.

 

And then there was a parcel. A calm photo of me with Lexi’s phone number and comment next to it.

 

My pulse quickened. We spoke on the phone, but it was unstable.

 

 

 

 

“I got your painting, Lexi. It’s lovely,” I said.

 

“I am grateful,” she remarked. “I should have given you something better.”

 

I understood that my own anguish had prevented me from her, so I let her go. “Perhaps we could begin again?” I informed you.

 

“Perhaps we could,” she remarked.

 

 

 

 

It was a new beginning when we organized a supper. With the money, Lexi had begun a new chapter in her life. Now she was getting a job, new clothes, and an apartment.

 

Hope rose as I considered our rendezvous. I might have discovered someone with whom to share both the good and the bad in life: Lexi. Perhaps our friendship, which developed out of random acts of kindness, could fill the void in my heart.