A rich man who is not very emotional offers a place to stay to Lexi, a homeless woman. He admires her strength, and they start to form a special connection. But one day, he unexpectedly walks into his garage and finds something unsettling. Who is Lexi really, and what secrets is she keeping?
I had all the money in the world: a big house, fancy cars, and more wealth than I could ever use. But inside, I felt empty.
I had never had a real family because women always seemed to be interested in me only for my money from my parents. Now that I’m sixty-one, I can’t help but wish I had made different choices.
I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling in my chest. That’s when I noticed a messy-looking woman bent over a trash can.
I slowed down my car, unsure why I was even stopping. There were always people like her around, right? But the way she was digging through the garbage, with thin arms and a strong focus, stirred something in me.
She looked weak, but also strong, as if she was fighting to survive with all her strength.
Before I knew it, I had stopped my car. The engine was running as I rolled down the window, watching her from inside.
She looked up, surprised. Her eyes were wide, and for a moment, I thought she might run away. But she didn’t. Instead, she stood up straight and wiped her hands on her old jeans.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, my voice sounding odd to me. I usually didn’t talk to strangers or invite trouble into my life.
“Are you offering help?” she asked. Her voice had an edge to it, but I could also hear that she was tired, as if she had heard too many empty promises before.
“I don’t know,” I said. The words came out before I could think about them. I got out of the car. “I just saw you there, and it didn’t feel right to drive away.”
She crossed her arms and kept her eyes on me. “What doesn’t feel right is life,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Especially cheating, worthless husbands. But you don’t seem like someone who knows much about that.”
I flinched, knowing she was right.
“Maybe not,” I replied, pausing to find the right words. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
She hesitated, looking away for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “No.”
That one word lingered between us, and it was all I needed to know.
“Look, I have a garage. It’s more like a guest house. You can stay there until you get back on your feet.”
I thought she would laugh or tell me to leave, but instead, she just stared at me, and I could see her tough exterior starting to break a little.
“I don’t take charity,” she said, her voice softer now, sounding more vulnerable.
“It’s not charity,” I replied, though I wasn’t really sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay. No strings attached.”
“Okay. Just for a night,” she said. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”
The drive back to my house was quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window, with her arms wrapped around herself like she was protecting herself.
When we got to my place, I took her to the garage that I had turned into a guest house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was decent enough for someone to stay in.
“You can stay here,” I said, pointing to the small space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
For the next few days, Lexi stayed in the garage, and we met for meals now and then. I couldn’t really explain it, but there was something about her that caught my attention.
Maybe it was how she kept pushing through all the hard things life had thrown at her, or the loneliness I saw in her eyes, which felt a lot like my own. Maybe it was just that I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
One night, while we were having dinner together, she started to share more about herself.
“I used to be an artist,” she said quietly. “Well, I tried to be. I had a small gallery and a few shows, but everything fell apart.”
“What happened?” I asked, really wanting to know.
She laughed, but it sounded empty. “Life happened. My husband left me for a younger woman he got pregnant and kicked me out. After that, my whole life fell apart.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
But I could see it wasn’t really over for her. The pain was still there, just under the surface. I knew that feeling all too well.
As the days went by, I started to look forward to our talks.
Lexi had a quick wit and a sharp sense of humor that brightened the emptiness of my big house. Little by little, I felt the emptiness inside me start to fade.
Then one afternoon, everything changed. I was in a hurry, trying to find the air pump for one of my car tires. I walked into the garage without knocking, planning to grab it and go. But what I saw stopped me in my tracks.
On the floor were many paintings. All of them were of me.
Or rather, strange and disturbing versions of me. One painting showed me with chains around my neck, another had blood coming from my eyes. In the corner, there was one of me lying in a coffin.
I felt sick. This was how she saw me? After everything I had done for her?
I quickly stepped back out of the room before she could see me, my heart racing.
That night, while we were having dinner, I couldn’t stop thinking about those disturbing paintings. Every time I looked at Lexi, all I could see were those awful images.
Finally, I had to say something.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice shaking. “What are those paintings all about?”
Her fork dropped onto her plate. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw them,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady but it came out louder than I intended. “The paintings of me. The chains, the blood, the coffin. What’s going on with that?”
Her face turned pale. “I didn’t want you to see those,” she said, stammering.
“Well, I did,” I replied, feeling cold inside. “Is that really how you see me? Like I’m some kind of monster?”
“No, that’s not it,” she said, wiping her eyes and sounding shaky. “I was just… angry. I’ve lost everything, and you have so much. It felt unfair, and I couldn’t help it. I needed to express my feelings.”
“So you painted me like a villain?” I asked, my voice feeling sharp.
She nodded, looking ashamed. “I’m really sorry.”
I leaned back and let the silence hang in the air. I wanted to forgive her and understand, but I just couldn’t.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said, my voice feeling empty.
Lexi’s eyes got big. “Wait, please—”
“No,” I cut her off. “It’s over. You need to leave.”
The next morning, I helped her pack up her things and drove her to a nearby shelter. We were both quiet. Before she got out of the car, I handed her a few hundred dollars.
She hesitated but then took the money with shaking hands.
Weeks went by, and I still felt a sense of loss. It wasn’t just because of the strange paintings, but because of what we had before. There had been warmth and connection—something I hadn’t felt in years.
Then, one day, a package showed up at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was different. It wasn’t creepy or twisted. It was a calm portrait of me, showing a peace I didn’t know I had.
Tucked inside the package was a note with Lexi’s name and phone number written at the bottom.
My finger hovered over the call button, and my heart raced like it hadn’t in years. I felt silly getting so worked up over a phone call, but there was a lot at stake that I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I took a deep breath and pressed “Call” before I could change my mind. It rang twice before she answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was cautious, as if she somehow knew it was me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi, it’s me. I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I thought I should give you something better than… those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset,” she said, sounding more calm now. “What I painted—those were just feelings I needed to let out. They weren’t really about you. You were just… there. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you as soon as I saw that painting.”
Her breath caught. “You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t just the painting that changed my mind. I realized I had let something important slip away because I was too scared to deal with my own feelings. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. How about dinner? If you’re up for it.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I really would.”
We planned to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job. She was planning to move into an apartment once she got her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of having dinner with Lexi again.
