CHAPTER 5
The wind howled outside like a chorus of lost souls, wrapping the tiny house in a symphony of loneliness and ice. Snow piled high against the windows, the dim light inside flickering against the storm. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed — a sound of urgency, of desperation. And yet, here inside, there was a quiet warmth Andrea hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.
She sat across from a man she barely knew, but somehow, he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. And what was even stranger — she was laughing. Honest, real laughter, bubbling up from a place inside her she thought had long since withered. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had smiled — and yet here she was, giggling like a child as this man, with his sharp blue eyes and threadbare dignity, teased her with a straight face.
“But I need to call you something,” she said between soft, breathless laughs. “How will I even talk to you if you don’t have a name?”
He looked at her seriously, his face a study in thoughtfulness. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind outside and their quiet breathing. Then he nodded. “I’ve given this a lot of thought… these last few months. Trying to remember — hoping some part of my name, my past, would come back to me.”
“And?” she asked, leaning forward just a little.
“And I’ve come up with one name that feels right.” He pressed his lips together, his face so serious that for a second, her heart fluttered with anticipation.
“What is it?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “John Doe.”
Andrea blinked — and then she burst out laughing, the sound breaking the stillness of the room. She clutched her belly, trying to contain it, but it kept spilling out. “How original,” she teased through her giggles, shaking her head. “You must’ve spent months coming up with that one.”
The quiet joy between them lingered as they settled into the small space, the storm raging beyond their walls. He — John Doe — went to take a shower, and Andrea found herself gathering his torn coat and the black, hole-riddled muffler he’d left behind. Her fingers brushed against the thin, worn fabric, and her heart twisted painfully in her chest.
No one should have to live like this.
She sat there for a while, the muffler clutched tight in her hands, thinking of his story — the car crash, the amnesia, the endless waiting in that hospital for someone to claim him. But no one had. And Andrea, of all people, knew what it felt like to be forgotten.
No one was looking for her either.
The difference was — she remembered. And maybe that made it worse.
She was still holding the scarf when the bathroom door opened, and Andrea’s breath caught in her throat.
He stood there in the soft glow of the room, his damp hair tousled and dark against his forehead. The beard was gone, and what lay beneath it was nothing short of breathtaking. High cheekbones, a strong, elegant jaw, lashes so long they cast shadows on his face. His body was thin, his bones jutting out from the months of hardship, but even beneath the frailty, there was no missing the grace — the kind of raw, startling beauty that felt almost out of place in her tiny home.
He was wearing her pink bathrobe.
The contrast between the delicate fabric and his broad, masculine frame should’ve been funny — but Andrea couldn’t laugh. She couldn’t even breathe.
“Umm… you can wear one of my oversized shirts for the night,” she managed to say, her voice unsteady. “We’ll… we’ll figure something out tomorrow.”
He nodded, clearly embarrassed and self-conscious, his arms crossing over his chest like he could make himself smaller somehow.
And somehow, that made her heart ache even more.
“What would you like for dinner?” he asked, already rolling up his sleeves, ready to fulfill the promise he’d made — that he’d earn his keep.
“Canned beans and mashed potatoes,” Andrea said quietly, watching his eyes flicker to her rounded belly. “It’s cheap. Easy. It’s all I could afford.”
She hadn’t meant to sound defensive, but the words tasted bitter. She was doing the best she could — but sometimes, it didn’t feel like enough.
When they finally sat on the floor together, their plates balanced on their laps, the space between them felt different. Warmer. Softer. Like maybe this storm had brought something other than cold and silence.
“But seriously,” she said after a while, her voice gentler now. “You know you do need a name.”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Give me one, then.”
She froze, her throat tightening.
How could she? A name wasn’t just a word. It was an identity — a life. How could she possibly choose something that would define him when he didn’t even know who he was?
But then… maybe she knew exactly what name he deserved.
The wind outside howled louder, rattling the windows, but the room had gone so still she could hear her heartbeat. And when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You can name yourself Asher.”
He looked at her then — really looked at her — and there was something in his eyes that made her throat close up.
“It means ‘blessed.’ Or… ‘happy.’”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at her with those impossibly blue eyes, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. And then — so quietly she almost didn’t hear it — he spoke.
“Thank you.”
The words were simple. But the way he said them — with so much gratitude, so much quiet reverence — made her eyes burn with unshed tears.
Later, as she lay in bed, the covers pulled up tight around her, Andrea let those tears fall. Silent and warm against her cheeks. Because the name she had given him… it wasn’t just a name.
It was the name she had chosen for her own unborn baby boy.
Asher Lucian.
Her golden light. Her quiet hope. The name that carried all the love she had left in her battered, weary heart.
And tonight — for the first time in so long — she didn’t feel so alone.
Tonight, she had done something for someone else. And maybe… maybe that meant she could still be saved, too.
Christmas had come early this year. And this time, it didn’t feel so cold.