When the storm began to quiet, the old man stood. “You’re kind, Hannah. That kindness may save your family someday,” he said quietly.

She smiled wearily. “I just did what anyone would do.”

But his expression turned solemn. “Not everyone would.”

That night, after everyone went to sleep, Hannah checked on the stranger once more. He was resting peacefully on the couch, his walking stick leaning by the fire.

She didn’t know it yet—but by the next morning, the man she’d helped would make a request so strange, so impossible, it would shake her to her core.

“Sell me your house,” he would say. “For one dollar. And leave today.”

The storm had passed by morning. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, making the puddles on the floor glisten. Hannah woke early, expecting the old man to still be asleep, but found him sitting at the kitchen table, neatly dressed, his hat resting beside him.