I was alone with my napping son at home, organizing my living room closet which had collapsed earlier, when I heard an unexpected knock on my door. I walked over and stood on the tip of my toes just enough to be able to peek through the glass accent window.

To my surprise, I saw an older gentleman who very politely asked me if he and his wife could see the interior of my house.

He claimed to be the man who had built it 60 years ago. Quickly, a similar scenario crossed my mind. A few months ago, someone had broken into my best friend’s grandparents’ home on the pretext of being a former neighbor and wanting to see the house of neighbors they loved. It was a red flag, and I respectfully denied him entry through the closed door.

Still, he insisted, sharing details about the house that a stranger wouldn’t easily know. His persistence made me curious, and I asked him to wait. He did, patiently, as I put on my workout clothes and locked my son in my room, and I made my way out of the house through the back door to examine the surroundings. There were no foreign cars. These people were indeed by themselves.

After about 10 minutes, I could tell they were becoming impatient, and I approached them. I explained what had happened to my friend’s grandparents, and they agreed that it was a strange request. The gentleman explained that he would love for his children, now adults, to see the house that they had grown up in years later. He even agreed to just stand at the door. After speaking with them for a few moments, I knew he was not lying, and I let them in.

Immediately, the look on his face told me that this was a house he had built beautiful memories in.

In a matter if 20 minutes, I learned that he had been in the navy and was a commercial pilot for most of his life. That we shared a strange love for the TV shows, Air Disasters and Aerial America,  and for the coral he had placed as an accent on the house– something Danny hates and has always wanted to remove against my wishes (Jack was glad it was still there). I learned that his wife was an artist and explained that I was a writer. I quickly rushed to grab one of my leftover books and gave it them so that he could get to know the girl who now lived in his former home.

We shared a lifetime in a moment.

I invited them to dinner as I was sure my husband would love to meet them, and they agreed (although I was sure they wouldn’t make it). We exchanged numbers and emails, and I was even promised friends and family tickets should he have any left over.

They had to leave, and I felt sad. I had just had one of the most unexpected magical moments of my life.

Before he left he said, “You know, I was hoping you’d be nice. I wouldn’t want someone who wasn’t nice living here.” And I smiled, “I am glad you are nice too. And I’m glad I got to meet you Jack and Grata.”

They left, and I began to get ready for the opening of a new spot in Wynwood. I quickly showered and got dressed. When Danny got home, I told him all about my adventure, and he was delighted. He too wanted to meet the man who built our home.

We left with low expectations to actually meet them, but we were hopeful.

On the way, I called Grata who answered the phone in a fluster. She and Jack had been looking for a place to stay. They hadn’t even made hotel reservations! I quickly offered to book them a room, and I did. Jack even trusted me with his credit card information over the phone. He said, “Anyone who invites a perfect stranger into her home is ok with my credit card.” I booked them a room and again hoped they would make it to dinner but wasn’t set on it.

They had been traveling since 4 am, and Wynwood isn’t exactly the place you’d expect an 84 year old to dine at.

Yet, a couple of hours later, there they were, in the middle of the hustle and bustle of a Saturday night at Wynwood.

We took them to the Wynwood Walls, and oddly enough they loved it! It was meant to be. We chatted over dinner about everything and anything, including that it only cost $25,000 to build our home in 1962.

We had one of the most beautiful and fragile interactions with two perfect strangers. And all we had in common until I opened my door was a building we call home.

To think that Achilles is growing up in the same walls that his 6 children grew up in (his eldest is now 60). It is something so separated by time yet so similar in the human experience. Today, I am grateful that the side of me that believes in the good of humanity, prevailed; that I opened the door; that I was able to share such a magical moment that made my day more memorable than I had imagined; that I now have this precious story to tell and yet another unforgettable memory in my home.

Today, I met the man who built my home. I met his wife. And I met the goodness I felt was lost in people, once more.