He used to dance barefoot in the kitchen with his wife and baby girl, singing away hunger and broken dreams. Now he sat wrapped in winter’s cold arms, humming to no one.
Truth is, he married too young, building a future out of paper dreams and calling it a life. But the problem with paper is how easily it burns.
And it burned.
First came the layoffs. Then came the bills. Then the stress. The debt. Chaos.
And though everything around him burned, somehow, there was never enough heat to keep them warm.
He didn’t let it keep him down, though. And when his baby girl, Mae, would look up at him and whisper, “Daddy, are you tired?”
He’d always smile, “not even a little.” Even though that smile was a mask and his aching bones felt like they’d crumble at any moment.
He worked three jobs — janitor, dishwasher, and delivery driver — but the role he viewed as the most important was being a father. Unfortunately, though, none of those roles could lessen the blow of losing his big corporate job. The economy was tanking and he couldn’t bounce back as quickly as he hoped. His luck seemed to run out. And once the debt set in, breaking even felt impossible.
He was kind, always has been. But that didn’t stop the lights from flickering off. It didn’t stop eviction notices. It didn’t cover late fees or prescriptions. And it didn’t protect the people he loved like he thought it would.
Still, he’d hum lullabies to Mae until she fell asleep. And when she woke screaming from nightmares, he’d twirl her around the living room until the monsters stopped chasing her. Though, they never stopped chasing him.
Then finally, when he believed things couldn’t get any worse, winter came. A bad one. And with it, a cold that clung to his soul.
And day by day he watched as his wife got sicker and her cough worsened. Eventually, the hospital demanded payments he no longer had. And before the snow could melt, she was gone.
He was evicted soon after. Living on the street. Mae’s laughter being the only thing that could light his broken world.
Until the state decided a homeless man wasn’t fit to raise a child. So they came for her. Pried her from his aching fingers. Tucked her into a car as she screamed. And drove away as her little hands reached for him, disappearing down the frozen street.
He never saw her again.
He never blamed anyone either. Not the doctors. Not the courts. Not even God. Just himself, for failing as a husband and father.
Years passed. The world grew quiet. And his laughter, once loud enough to fill every corner, shrank to a hum only he could hear.
Even with frozen fingers. Even with an empty belly. He’d hum the lullabies Mae used to love. And he’d whisper, “not at all” whenever his joints screamed or the cold wrapped around his bones like chains.
But despite his own struggle, he helped wherever he could. He cleaned up trash outside the shelter. Volunteered in soup kitchens. Gave away gloves, even when his hands turned blue.
One day, it was all too much for him, though. And as he sat at the train station. Shivering. Shoes soaked. He was ready to lean into a peace that would come in and sweep him away.
But before he could give up, he heard a laugh. One that reminded him of his little one.
A girl, five, maybe six, giggling as she pointed at the birds surrounding him as he hummed his last lullaby. And instead of tossing them crumbs, she handed him a warm piece of bread like it was treasure, her mother trailing behind.
The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Are you tired?”
His breath caught, startled as he opened his eyes. He hadn’t heard that question in years. Not in voice that genuinely seemed to care.
He forced a smile. “Not even a little, little one.”
She giggled and ran off. He watched her go, eyes stinging more from memories than the cold wind.
And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone. Nor did he feel like falling into the train tracks like he went there to do.
A few weeks passed. And one day, while sitting on a park bench just outside the station, his eyes were closed as he hummed softly. Quietly trying to distract himself from the cold.
Then…a laugh. Familiar. Pure. It sliced through the winter breeze like sunlight through heavy clouds.
And when he opened his eyes, he saw them again — the girl and her mother. Same station. Same spark in the kid’s eyes.
“Cold?” she asked, tilting her head.
But he lied. And through chattering teeth, he told her no. But she didn’t believe him. And before he could protest, she tugged off her red scarf and clumsily wrapped it around his neck.
“There. Now you look like a real super hero!” she beamed, her smile too big for her tiny face.
He stared, stunned.
Me? A super hero?
He laughed. A real one. Loud. Free. One that could fill every corner. Not because he was happy, but because the idea of him being a hero even though he couldn’t even protect his family was so absurd.
But the girl joined in. Laughing with him. And somehow, together, they lit up the entire block.
Finally, the little girls’ mother who had been occupied on a phone call finally took notice.
“June, baby, leave that man alone,” she said gently, approaching them.
“But mommy, he’s a superhero!” she smiled as she sat beside him.
“A superhero? And how’s that?” the mother asked, amused.
“When he hums, all the birds come!” She scooted closer to him. “And he feels safe. Kinda like daddy!”
The woman knelt down, smiling softly. “Well, thank you, Mister Superhero,” she said, finally noticing her daughters’ red scarf around his neck. She didn’t take it back, though. Instead, she looked at him closely, like she was searching for something in his face.
“My little one struggles to make friends,” she said quietly. “And I haven’t seen her this amused in a while. Thank you.”
“No, the pleasure’s all mine. Having someone to talk to, well, that made this old man’s whole day,” he said warmly. Then, turning to June, “Thank you, little one.”
The woman hesitated. Eyes lingering on him. Then softly, “Let me find you a place to stay tonight. You’re tired.”
And though it wasn’t a question, he still responded the only way he ever had.
“Not even a little.”
The woman’s lips parted. She froze. Her eyes wide as memories knocked her to her knees. And through tears, she whispered as she looked up at the man…
“D-daddy?”
