Hands of a Stranger (1962)

A stranger gave up the last-minute seat on Christmas Eve so I could get home and surprise them—but through the window, my husband and my “best friend” were clinking glasses; on the porch, my daughter was curled up and crying—I didn’t knock, I set a silent plan in motion. American streets at year’s end were still wet with rain. A dark wooden porch, a wreath on the door, a deep-red mailbox beside the pines, a small flag stirring lightly in the cold wind. I pulled my collar up after the last-minute