“You’re soaked.”

“And you?

How will you get home?”

“I’ll manage.”

It wasn’t a reassuring answer.

I could see he knew that.

Yet he understood something important: accepting help should not require a person to explain every humiliating detail of their life.

He folded the note twice, tucked it into his coat, and stood.

He was taller than I had realized.

For an instant he swayed, and I moved forward, instinctively afraid he might fall.

“I’m all right,” he said.

“I’ve had a difficult day, not a permanent one.”

We crossed the street together at the light.

I watched him enter the diner and speak to the waitress before turning the stroller toward home.