We all sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m Jack,” I started, “and these are my daughters, Emma and Lily. You’ve been helping us, and I want to know why.”

The woman took a deep breath. “My name is Claire,” she began. “Two months ago, you helped me when I was in a very bad place.”

I frowned, trying to recall. “Helped you? How?”

She continued, “I was lying by the road, weak and desperate. Everyone passed by, but you stopped. You took me to a charity hospital. I was severely dehydrated and could have died. When I woke up, you were gone, but I convinced the parking guard to tell me your car number. I found out where you lived and decided to thank you.”

Recognition dawned on me. “I remember now. You were in terrible shape. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

Claire nodded, her eyes moist. “Your kindness saved me. My ex-husband tricked me, brought me from Britain to America, took everything, and left me on the street. I had nothing and no one to turn to.”

Emma and Lily listened intently, their small faces filled with concern. “That’s so sad,” Emma said, her voice barely a whisper.

“But why are you here?” I asked, still puzzled.

Claire explained, “Your help gave me the strength to keep going. I went to the embassy and told them my story. They helped me get new documents and connected me with a lawyer to fight for my son. I got a job as a postal worker. But I wanted to repay you, to show my gratitude. I saw how tired you looked when you came home every day, so I decided to help you with small things.”

I was touched by her story. “Claire, I appreciate what you’ve done, but you can’t just break into our home. It’s not safe, and it scared me.”