I felt sorry for a homeless man and gave him a bowl of hot soup, but a week later I deeply regretted my good deed.

About two weeks ago, on my way to work, I noticed him for the first time. A man around thirty, at first glance perfectly ordinary — neat but worn-out clothes, unshaven face, empty stare. At that moment, I didn’t pay much attention. But when my shift at the bar was ending, I stepped outside to make a call — and he was still there.

The wind was already biting, the cold went straight to my bones. And he wasn’t even trying to find shelter. I couldn’t stand it and went up to him.

“Good evening… are you okay? Do you need help? Should I call someone?” I asked, and at that moment a sharp smell reached me, making me step back.

He looked at me a bit apologetically:
“No, thank you… I’m here because there’s no wind. Am I in the way?”

“No, you’re not in the way… But have you been here since this morning?”

“Almost. I went into the store a couple of times, just to warm up a bit.”

“Were you able to eat anything?”

“I bought bread… nibbling on it slowly.”

“Why… why aren’t you at home?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He lowered his eyes:

“There is no home.”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold back my pity.

“Wait here.”

I went inside and got him a warm meal using my staff discount. I seated him on the veranda, at least a roof over his head. He ate in silence, barely lifting his eyes. When I came out to close up — he was already gone.

At that moment, I could never have imagined that sometime later I would deeply regret that good deed. Continued in the first comment

The next day, that homeless man came back again. And again the next day. And again. He sat in the same spot, waiting. And I felt as if I had a duty to feed him. Every time. It went on like that for almost a week.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t have enough money myself to endlessly feed a person. Besides, customers were complaining about his strong smell, and management nearly fired me. But how could I tell a hopeless person that he wasn’t welcome here?

So I gathered all my courage and found a shelter for him. A homeless shelter where they would take him in and feed him.

Now he is there, with a roof over his head, a warm bed and food. But still there is a doubt inside me: was I right to take him there and stop helping him myself?

I feel so broken and I don’t know how to live with it.