I felt sorry for a homeless man and gave him hot soup, but a week later I deeply regretted my kind deed 😨😢
About two weeks ago, on my way to work, I noticed him for the first time. A man around thirty, seemingly ordinary — neat, though worn-out clothes, unshaven face, empty gaze. I didn’t pay much attention then. But when my shift at the bar was ending, I stepped outside to make a phone call — and he was still standing there.
The wind was already biting, the cold pierced to the bone. And he wasn’t even trying to find shelter. I couldn’t take it anymore and walked up to him.
— Good evening… are you okay? Do you need help? Should I call someone? — I asked, and at that moment, a sharp odor hit me and made me nauseous.
He looked at me a bit guiltily:
— No, thank you… I’m here because there’s no wind. I’m not bothering you, am I?
— No, you’re not bothering me… But have you been here since morning?
— Almost. I went into the store a couple of times, just to warm up a little.
— Were you able to eat anything?
— I bought some bread… just nibbling on it little by little.
— Why are you… why aren’t you at home? — I couldn’t hold back.
He lowered his eyes:
— I don’t have one.
I swallowed hard, barely holding back my pity.
— Wait here.
I went inside, used my discount to get him a meal. Something hot and proper. I seated him on the veranda — at least there was a roof over his head. He ate silently, barely lifting his eyes. When I came out to close up — he was already gone.
At that moment, I couldn’t even imagine that sometime later I would deeply regret my kind deed. Continuation in the first comment 👇👇
The next day, the homeless man came again. And again the day after. And again. He sat in the same spot, waiting. And I felt like it was now my duty — to feed him. Every time. This went on for almost a week.
I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t have enough money myself to keep feeding someone endlessly. Besides, guests were complaining about his strong odor, and management nearly fired me. But how could I tell a hopeless man that he wasn’t welcome here?
So I gathered all my courage and found him a shelter. A home for the homeless — they would accept and feed him there.
Now he’s there, under a roof, with a warm bed and food. But still, there’s a doubt inside me: did I do the right thing by taking him there and stopping my own help?
I feel so broken and don’t know how to live with this.
