Since her husband, Mark, died three years ago, a month after the birth of their youngest son, Robin, life had been this way. Angelina struggled to survive every day since she was left without a formal education or a steady job.
She was deep in contemplation that afternoon when she noticed an old man standing at the far end of the street. His once-fine clothing now clung to him like rags, and he looked out of place, soaked in the storm. He remained motionless, shivering and drenched, beneath a shuttered shop. Angelina’s heart ached for him in spite of her own hardships.
She snatched up an old umbrella and sprinted in his direction. “My house is close by,” she said. “Until the rain stops, you can wait there.”
The man gave her a disbelieving look before grinning subtly. As they strolled, he introduced himself as Joe Tyler. “And I’m grateful.”
The streets were soaked and another day of earnings was ruined as 34-year-old widow and mother of four Angelina Gibson gazed out her window as the rain beat down on the glass. In order to provide for her children, she sold eggs and flowers on the corner, but the rain had destroyed any chance of making enough money that day.
