I’d never had a family because women appeared to want me just for the money I inherited from my parents. At sixty-one, I couldn’t help but wish I had done things differently.

I tapped the driving wheel absently, attempting to remove the familiar weight from my chest. That’s when I noticed an unkempt lady bending over a garbage can.

I slowed the automobile, unsure why I bothered. People like her were ubiquitous, right? But there was something about the way she moved—her skinny arms, searching through the debris with grim purpose—that spoke to something deep within me.

She appeared delicate yet strong, as if she were fighting for existence by pure willpower.

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d pulled over. The motor hummed as I pulled down the window and watched her from the safety of my automobile.

She glanced up, surprised. Her eyes were wide, and I wondered whether she was going to run. However, she didn’t. Instead, she stood up and brushed her palms across her old pants.

“Do you need some help?” I inquired, my voice sounding weird even to my ears. It wasn’t like me to approach strangers, let alone invite danger into my life.

“You offering?” Her voice was keen but also jaded, as if she had heard every hollow promise before.

“I don’t know.” The words came out before I could think them through. I got out of the automobile. “I just saw you there, and… well, it didn’t seem right.”

She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes never leaving mine. “What’s not right is life.” She gave a sour laugh. “And adultery, especially with undesirable husbands. But you don’t appear to be really knowledgeable about that.”

I winced, even though I knew she was correct.

“Maybe not.” I stopped, wondering how to go. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”

She paused, her gaze flitting away for a moment before returning to mine. “No.”

The word lingered in the air between us. This was all I needed to hear.

“Look, I’ve got a garage. It functions more like a guest home. You may stay there till you get your footing.”

I anticipated that she would laugh in my face and tell me to go to hell. Instead, she only blinked at me, the edges of her impenetrable veneer beginning to crumble.

“I don’t take charity,” she continued, her voice softer and more vulnerable.

“It’s not charity,” I said, though I wasn’t really sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay, with no obligations.”

“Okay, it’s just for the night,” she replied. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”

The journey back to the estate was silent. She sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window with her arms wrapped about herself like a shield.

When we arrived, I took her to the garage-turned-guest house. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was adequate for someone to live in.

“You can stay here,” I answered, indicating the little space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Lexi stayed in the garage for the following three days, although we met up for dinners on occasion. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about her that captivated me.

Perhaps she could persevere in the face of adversity or the loneliness I saw in her eyes, which mirrored mine. Perhaps it was just that I no longer felt so alone.

One night, while we sat across from one another at supper, she started to open up.

“I used to be an artist,” she said, her voice quiet. “I tried to be, anyhow. I owned a small gallery that hosted a few exhibitions. But everything fell apart.

“What happened?” I inquired, genuinely intrigued.

She laughed, but the sound sounded hollow. “Life happens. My spouse left me for a younger lady, became pregnant, and booted me out.” My entire life unraveled after that.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”

However, I could see that it wasn’t truly in the past. The ache was still present, barely below the surface. I was quite familiar with the feeling.

As time passed, I found myself looking forward to our discussions.

Lexi’s keen wit and caustic sense of humor pierced through the melancholy of my vacant land. Slowly, the hollow space within me appeared to lessen.

Everything changed in one afternoon. I’d been hurrying around looking for an air pump for one of my automobile’s tires. I rushed into the garage without knocking, planning to take it immediately and depart. However, the sight before me halted my momentum.

There were dozens of paintings on the floor. Of me.

Or, more accurately, hideous replicas of me. One painting depicted me with shackles around my neck, while another portrayed blood streaming from my eyes. One painting depicted me resting in a coffin in the corner.

A wave of nausea washed over me. Was this how she saw me? Given everything I’d accomplished for her, was this how she perceived me?

I backed out of the room before she spotted me, my pulse racing.

That night, as we sat down to supper, I couldn’t get the pictures out of my head. When I glanced at Lexi, all I saw were those terrible images.

Eventually, I reached a breaking point.

“Lexi,” I murmured in a tense voice. “What the hell are those paintings?”

Her fork clattered onto the dish. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw them,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to remain cool. “The paintings are of myself. Chains, blood, and a coffin. “What the hell is that?”

Her face turned pallid. “I didn’t mean for you to see those,” she said.

“Well, I did,” I said bitterly. “Is this how you perceive me? “As some monster?”

“No, it’s not that.”” She wiped her eyes and spoke in a weak tone. “I was filled with anger. It wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t help it. “I needed to let it out.”

“So you painted me like a villain?” I inquired, my voice harsh.

She nodded, humiliation etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”

I sat back, allowing the stillness to spread between us. I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to comprehend. But I could not.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” I murmured, my voice flat.

Lexi’s eyes widened. “Wait, please—”

“No,” I interrupted. “It is over. “You need to leave.”

The next morning, I helped her pack her possessions and took her to a local shelter. She did not say much, and neither did I. Before she got out of the car, I gave her a couple hundred bucks.

She hesitated before accepting the money with trembling palms.

Weeks passed, but I couldn’t escape the sense of loss. The awful artwork wasn’t the only thing causing me sadness, but also the past experiences we’ve shared. There had been warmth and connectedness, something I hadn’t felt in years.

Then, one day, I received a parcel at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was unique. It was neither hideous nor perverted. It was a tranquil image of myself, caught with a calmness I had not realized I possessed.

The parcel had a letter with Lexi’s name and phone number written at the bottom.

My finger lingered over the call button, and my pulse pounded faster than it had in years. Getting worked up about a phone conversation seemed foolish, but there was a lot more at stake than I cared to accept.

I gulped hard and pressed “Call” before I could question myself again. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded hesitant as if she realized it could only be me.

I cleared my throat. “Lexi. It’s me. I received your artwork. It’s lovely. Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you would enjoy it. I felt I owed you something more than… well, those other paintings.”

“You did not owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t very fair to you either.”

“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was more steady now. “The things I painted were things I needed to express, but they weren’t specifically about you.” You were simply… there. “I am sorry.”

“You do not have to apologize, Lexi. I forgive you the moment I saw the artwork.

Her breath caught. “You did?”

“I did,” I said, and I meant it. The artwork did not solely influence my opinion; the persistent suspicion that I had overlooked something significant due to my fear of facing my pain also had an impact. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we can chat. Perhaps over dinner? “If you want.”

“I’d like that,” she responded. “I’d really like that.”

We arranged to meet in a few days. Lexi informed me that she utilized the money. I provided her with money to buy new clothing and acquire a job. She had planned to move into an apartment after she earned her first salary.

I couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of eating supper with Lexi again.