My clothing were still full of smoke. Everything else was gone, but my babies were safe. I was standing barefoot in the frigid night air, holding my five-year-old daughter, Luna, close. Mateo, my baby, was bundled against a stranger’s chest, wrapped in a firefighter’s jacket.
I had a home for a while. I had nothing the next day. Luna pressed her nose to my shoulder. “Where are we going to sleep now, Mommy?” I had nothing to say.
Calderon came forward at that moment.
He said, “Ma’am, I have something for you.”
I gave him a blink. “What?”
A key. “Come along,” he said.
It dawned on me then that this was more than a firefighter assisting a stranger. There was more to this.
We followed Calderon to his truck and then, he opened the passenger door and said, “I know this is strange.” However, I’ve got a place. It’s not much, but it’s warm, and you can keep it for however long you need. I gazed at the key he was holding. “Why?” My voice broke.
“Because I know what it’s like to lose everything,” he answered gently.
I took a deep breath and climbed in. The flat was clean and cozy despite its small size.
He said: “There’s food in the fridge.” “Just enough to get by, nothing fancy.”
“This contains some cash.”
Once more, it’s not much, but it will be useful till you work things out. With new tears streaming down my face, I wagged my head.
“I am unable to—”
“You can.”
He spoke in a friendly but warm tone. “Take it. No conditions.”
One day he brought Mateo a stuffed bear, a small plush firefighter wearing a soft red hat.
He said to Mateo: “His name is Smokey.”
At last, Luna, who was always curious, questioned, “Why do you help us?”
He stated plainly, “Because someone once helped me when I needed it.”
“And there are instances when we are unable to decide when we need to be saved.”
Months flew by.
What his support, I saved. I found a tiny flat of my own, a one-bedroom one, but it was ours, thanks to the money Calderon had given me. I thanked him by decorating party and inviting him to supper the day I received the keys.
He arrived carrying a toolbox. He smiled and added, “Just in case you need help setting up.”
“This is not necessary for you to do.” “I understand.” He ruffled Mateo’s hair and put down the toolbox. “But I’d like to.”
That night, we spoke for hours on end. Life issues, loss, and second chances. And he simply smiled and remarked, “That’s what people are supposed to do,” when I eventually thanked him for everything, not just the flat.
