When I saw a homeless man handing out wads of cash to some children from two bulging bags, my instinct told me that something was wrong. I called the police, but what they discovered was not a crime, but a heartbreaking story that would change my life forever.
The sun was just coming up as I closed the gas station door behind me. My back ached and my legs felt heavy after another long night shift.
The smell of stale coffee clung to my clothes, mixing with the faint aroma of petrol. I pulled my coat tighter around me and started walking along the pavement towards the bus stop.
As I walked, my thoughts wandered to Sophie and Jake. Sophie was already nine years old and was starting to act like she knew everything about the world. Jake, six, still believed in magic. They would probably get up soon, fighting over cereal or cartoons.
“Mom will be home soon,” I whispered as I always did after a shift. It helped me overcome exhaustion.
I reached into my pocket for my headphones, but something across the street stopped me in my tracks. There was a man on the sidewalk, hunched over a bag.
He looked rough, with his dirty clothes and long beard, the kind of man you’d avoid if you saw him coming at you at night. But that wasn’t what gave me the chills.
It was the money.
I narrowed my eyes, sure that I must be imagining it. He was taking wads of bills out of his bag and handing them to two children no more than ten years old. The boys looked confused, but they took the money and ran off.
“But what …?” I muttered under my breath. I felt a knot in my stomach. It didn’t make sense. A homeless man with a bag full of money? What was he doing?
I stood there for a moment, unsure. My instinct told me something was wrong, but I wasn’t going to approach him. He could be dangerous. What if it was stolen money?
I fumbled for my phone and my hands trembled as I dialed.
“911, what is your emergency?“ a calm voice replied.
“Uh, hello. I’m… I’m near the gas station. There’s a guy across the street,” I said, not taking my eyes off him. “He’s handing out money to kids. A lot of money. I don’t think it’s right.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He’s… a homeless guy, I think. Torn coat, dirty jeans, beard. But he’s carrying a huge bag of money. Something’s not right.“
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“No,“ I said quickly. ‘I’m across the street.’
“Stay where you are. Officers are on their way,” said the operator.
I hung up, clutching the phone as I watched the man. He was still rummaging in his bag, taking out more money and looking around as if he were waiting for someone.
A police car soon arrived, with its lights on but no siren. A tall man with a serious face and a shorter woman who seemed more approachable got out. They approached me first.
“Are you the one who called?” the male officer asked.
“Yes,” I said, nodding towards the man. ‘He’s right there.”
The officers exchanged a quick glance before crossing the street. I followed them at a distance, my heart racing. I wanted to know what was going on, but I also felt that I shouldn’t get involved.
“Sir,’ said the male officer as he approached. ”Can we talk to you for a moment?”
The man slowly looked up, his eyes sunken and tired. He clutched the bag to his chest. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he said, his voice rough and deep.
“We just need to know where this money comes from,” said the female officer, in a softer tone.
The man sighed and looked at the bag. ‘It’s mine,’ he said softly. ”All of it. I don’t want it anymore.”
I frowned, confused. What kind of homeless person has a bag full of money they don’t want?
“Can you explain?“ asked the agent.
“It’s my inheritance,” the man said, his voice breaking. “I received it years ago. I thought it would fix everything, but it didn’t. Nothing does.”
The officers remained silent, giving him space to continue talking.
“My wife… my children,” he continued, running a hand over his face. ‘They’re gone. Car accident. It took them both.’ His voice broke and he shook his head. ”Now this money… it’s just a reminder of everything I lost. I don’t want it. It’s a curse.”
I stood there, frozen, my throat tight. I didn’t know what I had imagined, but it wasn’t that.
The officer moved closer to him. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said softly. “Do you have somewhere safe to go? Someone to talk to?”
The man shook his head. ‘I don’t need that,’ he muttered. ”I just need to get rid of this.”
Then he looked up and his empty eyes met mine for the first time.
The policemen shrugged and walked to their car. As they left, I stared at the man. He had hunched over, his head bowed, cradling the bag as if it weighed a thousand kilos. I felt a twinge of guilt twisting in my stomach.
“Hi,“ I said softly, moving closer. ‘I’m sorry I called the police. It’s just that… I didn’t know what you were doing with those children. I’m a mother too. It just seemed strange.”
He looked at me and his tired eyes met mine. ’You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I understand. I would have done the same.”
I hesitated, unsure whether to leave or say something else. But something in his appearance, as if he had nothing left to lose, made me stay.
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” I said, putting my hands in my coat pockets. ”It’s just that… I was worried. About the children, you know?”
She nodded. “I understand,” she repeated. Then, after a long pause, she added, “I live at the end of the street. An old house on the corner. There’s no one else. Just the ghosts and me.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. ”All right.”
Without saying anything else, she turned and started to walk away.
As soon as she disappeared around the corner, I realized that there was something lying on the sidewalk. My stomach dropped when I realized it was a second bag of money, smaller than the first, but still full of money. She must have forgotten it.
I bent down, looking at it as if it were going to explode. For a moment, all I could think about was my children. Sophie needed braces. Jake’s shoes had holes in them. The pile of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter flashed through my mind.
I picked up the bag, my hands trembling. “What are you doing, Amber?” I muttered to myself.
I could keep it. She didn’t seem to want the money anyway. And I’d never know. Not like she was going to come back.
But the idea made me sick. I couldn’t keep it, no matter how much we needed it.
“Damn it,” I whispered. I clutched the bag tightly and started walking in the direction she had gone.
The house was easy to find. It was at the end of the block, leaning to one side as if it would collapse in the next storm. The windows were boarded up and the front garden was overgrown.
I hesitated at the door, feeling a lump forming in my throat. What if he didn’t want to see me again? What if he thought I was here to lecture him or something?
I forced myself to push open the rusty gate and approached the door. It wasn’t locked, just slightly ajar.
“Hello?” I called, entering.
The man was sitting on the floor of what used to be a living room, his back against the wall. He looked up and was startled to see me.
“It’s you again,“ he said in a deep voice.
“You left this behind.” I handed him the bag.
He stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t want it,” he said.
“You can’t just leave it lying around,” I said, walking over to him. ”Look, I understand: you think it’s a curse. But it’s not about you anymore. It’s your money. You have to decide what to do with it.”
For a long time, he said nothing. Then, finally, he sighed. “I knew you’d come back,” he said, his voice softening. “And I know what you’re thinking. That money could change your life. It could help your children. Do me a favor, will you? Take it. Use it for them. It will do you more good than it will me.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. “I can’t accept this. I don’t think it’s right.”
He looked me in the eye, his expression gentle but firm. ‘It’s what I want,’ he said. ‘Please. For your children.”
I hesitated, then nodded. ’At least let me thank you properly. Come and have dinner with us. It’s the least I can do.”
He seemed surprised, then suspicious, but after a long pause, he accepted.
That night he sat down at the table in our small kitchen, a plate of spaghetti in front of him. Jake proudly showed off his favorite toy car, zooming it around the table, while Sophie chattered about a book she had just finished.
For the first time, I saw a small hesitant smile light up his tired face.
After dinner, he sat on the floor with the children, playing a board game. Before I knew it, he had fallen asleep, his head resting on the sofa while Jake curled up next to him. I covered him with a blanket, feeling a strange warmth in my chest.
Two years later, he’s still here. He became the grandfather my children never had and the family we didn’t know we needed. Together, we found healing and happiness.