06/08/2025
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧-𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.
Henri sat on a frozen bench in a park on the outskirts of Lyon, shivering from the biting cold. The wind howled like a hungry wolf, snow fell in large flakes, and the night spread out like an endless black sea. He stared blankly ahead, unable to understand how, having built his house with his own hands, he now found himself on the streets, discarded like an old, useless piece of furniture.
Just a few hours ago, he had been at home, surrounded by walls he knew inside and out. But his son, Julien, looked at him with a cold indifference, as if he were a stranger, not his father.
“Dad, Julie and I can’t go on like this,” he had said without flinching. “And you need care, maybe a nursing home or a small room. You have your pension after all.”
Julie, his daughter-in-law, stood beside him, silently agreeing as if it were the most natural decision in the world.
“But… this is my house…” Henri’s voice trembled, not from the cold, but from the pain of being betrayed, which gnawed at him from the inside.
“You signed everything,” Julien replied, shrugging his shoulders with such coldness that it took Henri’s breath away. “The papers are all in order, dad.”
It was then that the old man understood: he had nothing left.
He didn’t argue. Whether from pride or despair, something pushed him to simply turn and leave, leaving behind everything he held dear.
Now, sitting in the darkness, wrapped in an old coat, he wondered how he could have trusted his son, raised him, given him everything, only to end up being a burden? The cold pierced him to the bone, but the pain in his soul was even more intense.
And then, he felt a touch.
A large, furry paw gently landed on his numbed hand.
A dog stood before him — large, furry, with a gentle, almost human look. It stared at Henri with attention, then nudged his cold palm with its wet nose, as if to say, "You are not alone."
“Where did you come from, big guy?” Henri murmured, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.
The dog wagged its tail and gently tugged at the hem of his coat.
“What do you want to do?” Henri wondered, though his voice had lost its sadness.
The dog stubbornly continued to tug, and with a sigh, Henri decided to follow it. What did he have to lose?
They crossed several snowy streets when the door to a small house opened before them. On the threshold stood a woman, wrapped in a thick shawl.
“Gaston! Where have you been, rascal?!” she began, before noticing the trembling man. “Oh my God… you look awful!”
Henri wanted to say that he would manage, but only raspy sounds came from his throat.
“But you’ll freeze! Come in quickly!” she grabbed his hand and almost dragged him inside.
Henri woke up in a warm room. The air was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a sweet smell — perhaps cinnamon rolls. It took him a moment to understand where he was, but the warmth surrounded his body, chasing away the cold and fear.
“Good morning,” a gentle voice said.
He turned. The woman who had helped him the night before stood in the doorway, holding a tray.
“My name is Claire,” she smiled. “And you?”
“Henri…”
“Well, Henri,” her smile widened, “my Gaston doesn’t bring just anyone home. You’re lucky.”
He returned a weak smile.
“I don’t know how to thank you…”
“Tell me how you ended up on the street in this cold,” she asked, setting the tray on the table.
Henri hesitated. But there was such sincerity in Claire’s eyes that he suddenly began to tell her everything: the house, his son, and how those for whom he had lived had betrayed him.
When he finished, a heavy silence filled the room.
“Stay here,” Claire suddenly said.
Henri looked up at her, puzzled.
“What?”
“I live alone, with Gaston. I need company, and you need a home.”
“I… I don’t know what to…”
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