It's Not Kindness, It's Survival

Lily hesitated, the door open just wide enough for the man’s hollow frame to be framed against the gray, swirling world outside. He had already begun to retreat, his shoulders hunched against a wind that seemed to cut through more than just fabric. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Wait,” she said, her voice catching. “I have tea.”

The man stopped, turning back toward her, his face a mix of surprise and mistrust. His eyes flicked to the cracked mug in her hands, its rim chipped but still serviceable, then back to her face. Lily couldn’t tell if it was the promise of warmth or the hint of kindness that made him pause, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.

She stepped aside to let him in, feeling the weight of his presence immediately as he crossed the threshold. The farmhouse was small, its sparse furniture arranged in a way that spoke more to survival than comfort. The man lingered near the door, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his threadbare coat. The knit gloves he wore were riddled with holes, his fingers poking through like roots breaking through dry earth.

Lily moved to the stove, her movements careful and deliberate. The kettle was already on, its surface blackened from years of use. She poured what little water she had left into it and set it to boil, the soft hiss of the flame breaking the silence.

“It’s not much,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “But it’s hot.”

The man didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood in the middle of the room, his gaze drifting over the table, the empty chair, the makeshift bed in the corner. His eyes lingered on everything, taking it all in as if trying to piece together the life of the person who lived here. Finally, he nodded, his voice rough and quiet when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

She set the table as the water boiled, placing the chipped mug across from where she always sat. Her heart twisted as she looked at the chair. Marcus’ chair. For a moment, she thought about telling the man to sit somewhere else, but the absurdity of it stopped her. It was just a chair. Just wood and nails. It wasn’t Marcus. It wasn’t him.

When the tea was ready, she poured it into the mug and set it down in front of him. He sat slowly, as if unsure whether the chair would hold his weight. The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward, until Lily finally spoke.

“Do you have a name?” she asked.

The man looked up at her, his fingers wrapped around the mug. His hands trembled slightly, whether from the cold or something deeper, she couldn’t tell.

“Grant Hepburn,” he said after a moment. “But my friends always called me Hep.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the table. “At least they did.”

Lily’s chest tightened at the way he said it, the weight of loss hanging heavy in his voice. She didn’t press him, didn’t ask the questions that swirled in her mind. Instead, she nodded, offering him the smallest of smiles.

“Hep, then,” she said. “I’m Lily.”

He nodded, taking a cautious sip of the tea. “Thank you, Lily. For this.”

She waved it off, unsure how to respond. “It’s just tea.”

“It’s more than that,” he said, his voice softer now. He set the mug down, his fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly. “I’ve been walking for days. Maybe weeks. It’s hard to tell anymore. Time doesn’t mean much out there.”

Lily nodded, understanding all too well. The days had blurred together for her, too, each one bleeding into the next until they were indistinguishable. She watched him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes seemed to carry the weight of everything he’d lost.

“Where were you coming from?” she asked.

He hesitated, as if deciding whether or not to answer. “I was on a work trip when it happened,” he said finally. “I’m from a small town up north. When the... disaster struck, I couldn’t get back. Roads were gone. Communication was gone. Everything was gone.”

Lily swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Your family?”

Hep’s hands tightened around the mug, his knuckles turning white. “I had a wife. Four kids.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t think they made it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Lily didn’t know what to say. What could she say? She’d lost people too, but somehow, hearing it from someone else made it feel sharper, more real.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “You don’t have to be. It’s just the way things are now.”

The silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt different. Not awkward, but shared. A quiet acknowledgment of the pain they both carried. Lily reached for her own mug, the tea long since gone cold, and held it tightly in her hands. The warmth had faded, but the weight of it grounded her, reminded her that she was still here. Still alive.

“You can stay,” she said finally, her voice steady. “For as long as you need.”

Hep looked up at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “Just... don’t sit in that chair next time.”

He glanced down at the chair he was sitting in, then back at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the first hint of light she’d seen in his eyes, and for a moment, it made the world feel a little less dark.

Lily stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the man, Hep, take the first tentative sip of tea. The weight of the silence between them was different now, not uncomfortable, but filled with unspoken understanding. She couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions stirring inside her—relief, perhaps, that she wasn’t alone in the way she’d feared for so long. But also something else, something sharper: the aching reminder that the world, the world outside these walls, had been irrevocably torn apart. She could see it in his eyes, that hollow look, as though he was carrying the very destruction of everything he'd known on his shoulders. The edges of her own grief curled around her like an old, familiar blanket, too heavy to shake off, too cold to discard. But there was warmth in this moment—fragile, fleeting, but undeniable—and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself feel it. She didn’t want to think about Marcus, not now, not with him sitting there. But her thoughts snuck back there anyway, curling tight like vines, choking her breath. How long had it been since she'd seen his face, since she'd felt his presence beside her, solid and warm? And yet, in this room, with a stranger who had lost just as much, she could almost feel him again, a ghost lingering at the edge of her memory. She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on Hep, his quiet voice, the way his hands trembled around the mug. She couldn't change what had happened. But maybe, just maybe, she could offer a little bit of peace, a little bit of solace. If only for tonight.