I brought a pizza order to a senior citizen. The moment I walked into her freezing, unlit residence, I knew she needed help. Therefore, I made a choice I believed would assist her. I never anticipated she would stare right at me moments later and declare, “You are to blame for this.”

The spring breeze that evening was biting.

And waiting on that rear porch, I already sensed that this particular drop-off felt off.

The residence lacked any lights, and the lawn was completely untamed. I balanced a giant meat pizza in one palm and held my mobile device in the other, verifying the details just to ensure I hadn’t arrived at the incorrect address.

The location was accurate. The instructions read: “Kindly knock heavily.”

“I really hope this isn’t a joke,” I grumbled while I pounded on the wood.

“Step inside.”

I froze there for a moment, my gut screaming that this is exactly how individuals end up as breaking news.

However, I was already late, and her tone did not seem dangerous.

Therefore, I pushed the door open.

The cooking area was dark, illuminated solely by the ajar refrigerator. I walked in and trembled. It felt even chillier indoors than it did out on the porch!

“Over here,” the voice yelled out.

I walked into a cramped sitting space.

Mrs. Higgins rested in a battered armchair, illuminated by a single flame dancing on an end table. She was wrapped in so many quilts that her face appeared ridiculously tiny.

Her gaze fixed entirely upon the food carton I carried.

“Ma’am,” I spoke nervously, “are you… doing okay? It is quite freezing in this place. Very dim, as well.”