Welcome to The Revealed Story Press!

 

 

MAY 11, 2026

It was like an image in a mid-century storybook. The neighborhood was all abuzz. On a bright sunny day in mid-May, the scene was idyllic with a side of chaos. The sound of children in the warm air, dogs out and about with their humans, bikes and scooters shuffling people to their next destination. 

And then came the scene I least expected. As I paced, contemplating the theme of today’s blog, I watched two construction workers walk in step with one another, hauling stacked beams on their shoulders. One stood, walking five feet ahead of the other, perfectly aligned, staring straight ahead, as though they were soldiers or pallbearers solemnly trekking to the site of interest. It was clear a project was afoot, and they were some of the guys called to do this work. I had never seen anything like this on the road in front of my home. It literally looked like someone tore a page out of a storybook, and pasted it on the street in front of my home. Project or not, it was a sight to see, and definitely made me do a double-take. 

As I sat outside, the birds still chirping loudly as though it were late morning, it became clear that life is very much like a construction zone. There is so much to do that requires the collaboration and support of others, and with just the right tools and resources, much can be accomplished. You can go from a rough blueprint to a completely renovated building in no time at all (unless you live in my area, where repairing a home takes a year and a half!)

I recall when my children were much younger that I was of the mindset they were like pint-sized projects and I was their one and only worker assigned to their case. I sincerely believed it was my mission to not just mold and shape them according to my likeness, but to ensure, at all costs, that they became adults and citizens of the world that were kind, respectable, and empathetic. Of course, these are not “bad” aspirations in the least. But the way in which I viewed their lives as projects to be managed was damaging to their spirits, and would eventually backfire. Ultimately, it drove some of them away from the home, forcing them to go through a phase in which the space between us was necessary for their well-being, and in some cases, their survival. I found myself in a similar situation in my mid-20s, when I had to make a life-altering decision to move out of my mother’s home, and into an area that was unfamiliar yet exciting, full of promise and hope I would not find anywhere else. 

I have indeed been on both sides of this issue. I absolutely know what it is like to be a project manager, thinking other people were broken, and if they would just do what I said, then everything would be just fine. But I also know what it’s like to be someone else’s project. The intellectual poking and prodding of my life by others, perhaps with positive intent, has left me sore with wounds of pity, not admiration. Where I thought I held talent, expertise and wisdom, others saw me as someone who still lacked qualities associated with those of the highest moral caliber. Some in my life found it suitable to only engage with me for the purpose of fixing me where I was deemed broken. It broke my heart to understand I was not always considered a human being, an adult free to be autonomous and make life choices without others’ input, but that I existed merely to be a vessel into which others funneled their innermost desires and deep-seated insecurities. 

It is exceedingly difficult to hold my tongue and watch others rise and fall, merely standing at a distance, refusing to engage with the scenario at hand. However, I’ve learned that personal progress and self-actualization do not occur when others interfere with “good intentions,” but when each one of us is able, willing and free to live their lives according to their own wishes. It can be quite unsettling to acknowledge what you may have thought was an equal relationship in your eyes never really existed. Instead, there loomed a connection built on false pretenses, one where you are pitied, judged and shamed for your thoughts and decisions, rather than an adult – or budding adult – capable of discerning what is best for yourself. No one else can ever truly know how difficult it is to live your life. It is vital we all remember to show proper respect to one another, allowing each of us to learn, grow, make mistakes, fall down, get back up again, and so on. Some, like I once did, find themselves wanting to fix others’ lives because they fear addressing their own. Sometimes, it is in everyone’s best interests to stay in your own lane, love others with a pure heart, not with the goal of changing them but accepting them where they’re at, and acknowledging the self-agency and free will of every person breathing on this planet. We all share the same air, and we all have a right to breathe it without fear of being reconstructed by others. 

And if you ever are witness to a reconstruction on your block, take heart in the fact they are repairing a home, not a person fully capable of living their own life and deciding their next step in it. 

In today’s story, “Cold Hands, Warm Heart,” a single woman finds another woman in need, and instead of reconstructing her in her own likeness, chooses to love her as she is: a peer with her own unique past and dreams, eager to reclaim the identity and connection she thought she once lost. I hope you enjoy this story. Please feel free to message me your thoughts, and if you appreciate my content, please support my work by buying me a coffee. Thank you so much for being here. 🙂

***

COLD HANDS, WARM HEART

I eyed her through the peephole with precision and wariness. She stood there, her upper body shivering and swaying back and forth. The early winter sun was suspended barely above the evergreen treetops, and cardinals rushed to their nests as the weather turned from sleet to snow. The ice on the road was clear as glass, and the four-wheeler passing by slowed to a near-stop as squirrels ran across the street, and climbed into an adjacent tree. 

I breathed deeply, and cracked the door just enough to make eye contact. “Can I help you?”

She coughed, and hugged herself tightly. “I need a place to stay.”

“Are you okay?” My facial expression softened, as I released the chain on the door, and opened it wider. Her head bobbed erratically, and her eyes rolled back, as I grabbed her wrist. She looked straight at me, and collapsed on my front porch, her head barely missing the concrete. I held her up under her arms, and dragged her inside, kicking the door closed with my right boot.

I pulled her into my living room, across the wooden floor, and onto the wide hearth rug. I took a pillow from the couch, propping up her head, and covered her with the multi-colored throw that draped the back of the gray sofa. Her eyes were closed, and her countenance faced the flame lighting up the fireplace. The orange glow made her appear as though she were an earth-bound angel, resting her wings between her flights of mercy. The fire crackled and popped, and the dog stirred in his sleep. I stood over her, staring at her presence, as worried thoughts circulated in my head. As though reading my mind, she shifted her cold body, turning to her right side. She heaved a heavy sigh, and settled into a sideways pose and a long overdue rest.

I took the other pillow, put it behind my head, and laid back on the couch. Where did she come from? I thought. And why did she land on my front porch? And who in their right mind would be out in this weather? Schools had already closed for the following three days, due to the blizzard warnings. It was only a matter of a few hours before the snow would pick up. I stared at the ceiling, watching the cobwebs dangle from an impossible breeding spot. They were so good at reminding me I was not the greatest housekeeper.

As she slept on the floor and I sipped my peppermint tea, I realized she was going to be here for a while. I closed my eyes, hoping to dream for a while. Ash snored in the corner of the room on his bed, as I hovered on the threshold of profound awareness. 

***

Her yawn startled me awake, as I was abruptly reminded that a homeless woman was in my home. She sat up, and immediately started shivering again. I snagged another blanket off the other couch, and kneeled behind her, gently covering her shoulders and neck with it. She looked up at me with kindness in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, pulling it tightly around herself. She faced the fireplace, rubbing her hands together and blowing warm air on them.

“You slept a long time. Can I get you anything?” Her eyes were a deep cobalt blue, and it seemed when I looked at them that I somehow knew her. 

“Just a glass of cold water, please. Thank you so much! I just want to thank you for letting me in your house tonight. I had been to every house on this block, but everyone else basically slammed the door on me. Your generosity means so much to me.” Her beautiful, warm eyes welled up with tears. “I’ll never understand how people can be so cruel.”

Same, I thought to myself. I handed her a glass of water, barely touching her fingertips in the exchange. I went back to grab my cup, and sat down next to her on the rug. She was dressed in denim, and had a ragged sweater on that attracted dust and dog hair easily. Her face gave her age away, as she looked about as old as I was. “So, tell me,” I said, pausing for a sip, “what’s your story? I mean, why were you running around out there in this mess? It’s freezing.” I wrapped my own hands around my mug.

“I have nowhere to go. No family in the area, no friends at all. The shelter I normally stay at is maxed out tonight. I left to try to get some money and by the time I got back, they had no room for me. Of course, all the churches are closed and the cops don’t care enough to do anything. So here I am.” The condensation was beading up on the outside of her glass, a sure sign the room was getting too warm for the both of us. I offered her more ice, which she politely refused. 

“Are you from around here?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she replied. taking another long sip. “I grew up here, and remained in the area because the weather was decent and work was easy to find. But about two years ago, my fiance kicked me out of his apartment, and a week later, I ended up losing my job. I haven’t been able to find work or a place to live since.” Her eyes teared up again. “He’s off enjoying his life now with his new wife and newborn, while I’m just barely getting by. The injustice is real.” She set her glass down, and buried her head in her hands. 

I gently patted her shoulder. “You know, you nearly hit your head on the ground outside, when you passed out on my front porch. I don’t mean to pry, but I’m concerned you may need medical help, and I’m not a doctor.”

“No, don’t worry. I’m not on anything. I was extremely wiped out, after walking for miles today trying to get money for food and shelter. I kept getting turned away everywhere I went. It’s just useless. Nobody cares about me anymore.” She looked at the fireplace just in time to watch the last log catch fire. 

My heart swelled with empathy. Images flashed through my mind as though it were flipping through a photo album. The one of me in a white dress saying “I do” emerged first. It was followed by the memory of being in the hospital with my fourth child. Then the image of standing at the foot of my mother’s grave, reminding me I was truly alone for the first time in my life. I was parentless and with no one except a husband who didn’t know how to love and ultimately stay by my side through thick and thin. My heart melted, as I instantly understood her. Though we were vastly different, there was much we had in common. “You said you hadn’t eaten, right? I have some beef stew I made yesterday. Would you like some?” 

“That sounds wonderful, yes, I would.” Her hands shook fiercely as she brought her glass to her chapped lips. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been indoors for three hours, and you’re still shaking.” I assertively took the glass from her hands, and set it on the edge of the fireplace. I held her by both of her wrists, and turned her hands palms up. They were damp and deep red and seemed frosty to the core. Her fingers curled up at their tips, as though grasping something present yet invisible. 

I looked into her eyes, and instantly felt her pain. The pain of all she had experienced and the pain of being misunderstood. I put her hands together, as though in prayer, and enveloped with my own. My hands, though slightly chilled, warmed hers enough to dispel what remained of her reaction to the cold, winter weather outside. I closed my eyes, and held her for what seemed like eternity, as the quiet music hummed in my living space. They continued to shake, yet as I persisted, her visible discomfort slowly ground to a halt as I held the space for her need to be warm and loved. As I remained in this contemplative state, I recalled a dream I’d had where this exact thing was happening. It was destiny finding its way to my home, for sure.

The sound of water lapping entered our ears, causing both of us to open our eyes. Ash was drinking from the glass on the fireplace. We both laughed. “Do you feel better? I’m happy to help you anyway you need it.” I released my grip from her, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. 

“I feel so much better. You’re a life-saver, for sure. I’d really like some of that soup now, if you still want to offer me some.”

“Absolutely! And I’ll get you a clean glass, too. Some of us don’t understand boundaries, as you can see!” I looked at Ash, and smiled.

She laughed, and gave him a soft pat on the head. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? I sure hope I get to see more of you!”

I smiled, as I stirred the pot with my wooden spoon. I looked at her, and thought the same.  ⚢

 

 

 *******

YOU CAN CHECK OUT LAST WEEK’S STORY HERE!

I hope you enjoy my creative content! Let me know what you think. Everyone is welcome here!

 

Thank you for visiting!

******

The Revealed Story Press is a lesbian-owned publishing house. Its mission is to produce creative writing and promote causes that center women, women’s issues, radical feminism and lesbian visibility. While I stand in solidarity with the broader rainbow community, and support the rights of all marginalized people, the specific purpose here is to ensure the visibility and voices of women and lesbians are never erased. 

 

BUY ME A COFFEE!