When a rich man, who feels emotionally distant, gives shelter to Lexi, a homeless woman, he becomes intrigued by her strength. Their unexpected friendship starts to grow—until one day he walks into his garage without knocking and finds something shocking. Who is Lexi really, and what is she hiding?
I had everything money could buy: a big house, fancy cars, and more wealth than I could ever use in a lifetime. Yet, inside, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t fill.
I had never had a family since women always seemed to want me only for the money I got from my parents. At sixty-one, I often wished I had made different choices.
I tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, trying to shake off the familiar weight on my chest. That’s when I spotted a messy woman bent over a trash can.
I slowed the car, unsure why I even bothered. People like her were everywhere, right? But there was something about the way she moved, her thin arms digging through the garbage with a grim determination that tugged at something inside me.
She looked fragile but fierce, like she was holding on to life by sheer willpower.
Before I knew it, I had pulled over. The engine hummed as I rolled down the window, watching her from the safety of my car.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might run. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened up, brushing her hands on her faded jeans.
“Do you need some help?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to me. I wasn’t the kind of person to talk to strangers or invite trouble into my life.
“You offering?” There was a sharpness in her voice, but also a tiredness, like she’d heard every empty promise before.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out before I could think. I stepped out of the car. “I just saw you there, and it didn’t seem right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze fixed on mine. “What’s not right is life.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And cheating, no-good husbands in particular. But you don’t seem like someone who knows much about that.”
I winced, even though I knew she was right.
“Maybe not.” I paused, unsure how to continue. “Do you have a place to go tonight?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting away for a second before locking back onto mine. “No.”
The word hung in the air between us. That was all I needed to hear.
“Look, I have a garage. It’s more like a guest house. You could stay there until you get back on your feet.”
I expected her to laugh in my face, to tell me to go away. But instead, she blinked at me, the edges of her tough exterior starting to crack.
“I don’t take charity,” she said, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable.
“It’s not charity,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “It’s just a place to stay. No strings attached.”
“Okay. Just for a night,” she replied. “I’m Lexi, by the way.”
The drive back to my house was quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield.
When we arrived, I led her to the garage-turned-guest-house. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough for someone to live in.
“You can stay here,” I said, pointing to the small space. “There’s food in the fridge, too.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Over the next few days, Lexi stayed in the garage, but we saw each other for meals. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her pulled at me.
Maybe it was how she kept going despite everything life threw at her, or perhaps the loneliness in her eyes, which mirrored my own. Maybe it was just the simple fact that I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
One night, as we sat across from each other at dinner, she began to open up.
“I used to be an artist,” she said softly. “Well, I tried to be. I had a small gallery, a few shows… but it all fell apart.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely curious.
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Life happened. My husband left me for a younger woman he got pregnant and kicked me out. My whole life unraveled after that.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “It’s in the past.”
But I could tell it wasn’t, not really. The pain was still there, just below the surface. I knew that feeling all too well.
As the days passed, I found myself looking forward to our conversations.
Lexi had a sharp wit and a biting sense of humor that cut through the gloom of my empty house. Slowly, the hollow space inside me seemed to shrink.
It all changed one afternoon. I had been rushing around, trying to find the air pump for one of my cars. I barged into the garage without knocking, expecting to grab it quickly and leave. But what I saw stopped me cold.
There, spread across the floor, were dozens of paintings. Of me.
Or rather, grotesque versions of me. One painting showed me with chains around my neck, another with blood pouring from my eyes. In the corner, there was one of me lying in a casket.
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was how she saw me? After everything I’d done for her?
I backed out of the room before she noticed me, my heart pounding.
That night, as we sat down for dinner, I couldn’t shake the images from my mind. Whenever I looked at Lexi, all I could see were those horrific portraits.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Lexi,” I said, my voice tight. “What are those paintings?”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw them,” I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “The paintings of me. The chains, the blood, the coffin. What the hell is that?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see those,” she stammered.
“Well, I did,” I said coldly. “Is that how you see me? As some monster?”
“No, it’s not that.” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaky. “I was just… angry. I’ve lost everything, and you have so much. It wasn’t fair, and I couldn’t help it. I needed to let it out.”
“So you painted me like a villain?” I asked sharply.
She nodded, shame etched on her face. “I’m sorry.”
I sat back, letting the silence stretch between us. I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to understand. But I couldn’t.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I said flatly.
Lexi’s eyes widened. “Wait, please—”
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s over. You need to leave.”
The next morning, I helped her pack her things and drove her to a nearby shelter. She didn’t say much, and neither did I. Before she stepped out of the car, I handed her a few hundred dollars.
She hesitated but then took the money with trembling hands.
Weeks passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. Not just because of the disturbing paintings, but because of what we had before. There had been warmth and connection — something I hadn’t felt in years.
Then, one day, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a painting, but this one was different. It wasn’t grotesque or twisted. It was a serene portrait of me, captured with a peace I hadn’t known I possessed.
Tucked inside the package was a note with Lexi’s name and phone number scrawled at the bottom.
My finger hovered over the call button, my heart beating faster than it had in years. Getting worked up over a phone call felt silly, but there was so much more riding on it than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed hard and hit “Call” before I could second-guess myself. It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was hesitant, like she sensed it could only be me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi. It’s me. I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I figured I owed you something better than… those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi. I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was steadier now. “What I painted — those were things I needed to get out of me, but they weren’t really about you. You were just… there. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you the moment I saw that painting.”
Her breath hitched. “You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it. It wasn’t just the painting that had changed my mind; it was the feeling that I had let something meaningful slip away because I was too scared to face my pain. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. Maybe over dinner? If you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
We made plans to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job. She was planning to move into an apartment when she got her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having dinner with Lexi again.
Grandmother with entire body covered in tattoos reveals what she looked like decade ago
Many people like to get body modifications such as tattoos to express their individuality.
However, some people are completely against these kinds of things. Kerstin Tristan was one of the latter till 2015, when one incident changed her mind for good…
Keep reading to find out more about her journey.
56-year-old Kerstin Tristan is a mother and grandmother. But her hobbies vary a little outside of what might be considered the ‘norm’ for a grandmother. She likes body modification art, mostly tattoos.
She has her entire body covered in tattoos at this point, and to dedicate herself to this level, she had to spend a lot of money. But she did not always love tattoos so much. In fact, she revealed that till 2015, she actually hated tattoos. What changed her mind about them? It was in the same year that she got her first one, which completely shifted her view on the practice.
“I simply just wanted to try something new. We all live just once, and I thought that at my age, something real has to come,” she shared.
Since 2015, she has managed to spend 30,000 euros (approx. US $32,000) on modifying her body with tattoos alone. But thankfully, she has gotten a lot of attention and love because of her actions.
Her Instagram account has over 190,000 followers, and her TikTok videos have millions of views.
She is not shy to show off her looks! She posts pictures of herself showing off her entire body on Instagram. But she did not always look like this, just a decade ago, she was tattoo-free and looked completely different. She sometimes posts comparison photos for people to see the drastic change.
The German-based influencer has images of vibrant roses on her legs, a leopard print tattoo on her shoulders, and several detailed portraits on her arms. These tattoos happen to be among dozens of others on her entire body.
She loves how she looks now, saying, ‘”When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a beautiful meadow full of flowers that one has to love.”
And she is not the only one who loves her look, one fan wrote, “A beautiful work of art.” While, another person wrote, “Wow stunning photo.”
If you liked this piece, you might like the story of Melanie Griffith’s tattoo for Antonio Banderas and the shocking appearance it has today, almost a decade after their divorce.
Expressing yourself is not something that should end with age. If anything, Kerstin is a wonderful example of how age should not define how you choose to express yourself to the world. What do you think of her tattoos? Let us know in the comments.
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