The scream ripped across the quiet farmland like a gunshot.

It echoed off the barns and silos, cutting through the warm haze of late afternoon. Joe froze mid-step, the metal bucket in his hand sloshing milk onto his boots. For a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. Out here, on the lonely stretch of a Midwestern county road, silence was normal. But this sound—sharp, desperate, human—didn’t belong.

Something was wrong.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, pushed back the barn door, and stepped into the light. Dust hung in the air like glitter, the fields of corn swaying under a sky that seemed too big to hold. And there, just beyond the split-rail fence, a car sat stranded with its hood propped open. Beside it stood a woman—heels sinking into gravel, sleek hair tumbling forward as she shouted at the lifeless machine.

Joe narrowed his eyes. City. Everything about her screamed it. She looked like she had been dropped from Manhattan into Kansas by mistake.

But before we get to that moment—before Joe walked toward the stranger who would alter the course of his life—you need to know who he was. And why that scream, of all sounds, carried straight into the core of a man like him.

Joe was forty-two, tall and broad-shouldered, with skin burnished by years under an unforgiving sun. He lived on the outskirts of Kansas City, where dusty roads stretched longer than a man’s patience and neighbors waved from the cab of a pickup instead of knocking at your door. He wasn’t rich. Not even close. But he carried himself with the quiet pride of someone who worked the land with his own two hands.

Joe had been born to farmers who owned little more than their soil-stained palms and a stubborn dream. His parents never had much money, but they had grit. And grit was enough to raise one boy on a farm that should’ve failed a dozen times.

As the only child, Joe didn’t grow up with store-bought toys. His playground was the pasture. His games were the chores: carrying hay bales, mending broken gates, fixing the temperamental tractor with his father under a sky streaked orange. He learned to milk cows before he could multiply. And when the horses neighed at dusk, it was Joe’s laughter that answered back.

School was another story. The bus never came down their dirt road, so every morning his father drove him miles across the county just to reach the pickup stop. Joe would sit in the passenger seat, watching the sun rise over cornfields while his father’s calloused hands gripped the wheel. Those rides planted something in him—a mix of longing and loyalty. He dreamed of more, but he also knew the land had already chosen him.

His parents, though, wanted different. They wanted him to be a businessman, not a farmer condemned to scrape by on unpredictable harvests. They saved every penny, sold off equipment, and sent him to college. Joe studied business administration, wore button-down shirts, shook hands in lecture halls.

And for a while, it worked. He graduated, landed an office job in the city, and found himself among the glass towers and endless hum of commerce.

But inside those walls, he suffocated. The city didn’t smell like rain on soil. It smelled like asphalt baking in the sun and coffee that had gone cold on someone’s desk. Meetings felt like cages. His body sat in a swivel chair, but his mind roamed the fields.

He lasted five years.

One morning, he walked into his boss’s office, handed in his resignation, and walked out into the glare of the city without looking back. He was terrified of what his parents would say. Would they call him foolish? Would they resent the sacrifice they had made?

Instead, they smiled. His father clapped him on the back, his mother kissed his cheek, and both of them told him the same thing: “We’re proud you chose your own road.”

By the time illness claimed his father and grief carried away his mother a few years later, Joe had already reclaimed the farm. He married Alice, the love of his life, a woman as steady as the seasons. Together they raised two daughters in the same house where he had once dreamed of leaving.

It wasn’t easy. Expansion brought more animals, more repairs, more bills. Debt lurked like a shadow. Alice took jobs in town to help, but the weight of keeping the farm alive always pressed heavy. Still, they laughed often. Their girls ran barefoot through the fields, chasing fireflies at dusk, while Joe and Alice sat on the porch, sipping sweet tea and daring to believe they could make it.

On that particular afternoon, Joe was in the barn, crouched beside his favorite cow, rhythmically filling a pail. The air was warm and thick with the smell of hay. His hands moved in practiced motions, the kind a man could do blindfolded. He was at peace, if only for a moment.

Then came the scream.

The bucket tipped, milk spilling white across the dirt floor. Joe’s heart jumped as he strode to the door, blinking into the sunlight. And there she was—the stranger with the broken car, standing like a lost piece of another world on his gravel drive.

She looked furious, defeated, and desperate all at once. Joe didn’t know her name, her story, or why fate had dropped her at his gate.

He had no idea that within minutes, this stranger would walk into his barn and hand him something that would change his life forever.

…

Joe didn’t hesitate. He pushed the gate open and strode down the gravel drive, boots crunching against the stones. The woman glanced up, startled, her face a storm of anger and despair.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” he called out, voice steady but kind.

She spun toward him, throwing her hands in the air. “Does this look all right to you?” Her voice cracked, raw with frustration. For a second, Joe stiffened—he wasn’t used to being barked at. But almost instantly, regret washed across her features.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her shoulders sagging. “It’s just… it’s been a horrible day. And now this stupid car decides to break down in the middle of nowhere.” Her eyes glistened, and she blinked hard, fighting the tears.

Joe softened. “No need to apologize. Some days just have it in for us.”

She let out a breath, scanning the endless farmland as if realizing how far she was from any mechanic. “Do you… live around here?”

Joe nodded and gestured toward the farmhouse, its white paint peeling but proud. “That’s mine. I live here with my wife and two daughters.” Then, with a half-smile, he added, “Mind if I take a look at your car?”

Her brows shot up. “You? No offense, but… you’re a farmer. Do you really know anything about cars?”

Joe chuckled, the sound low and warm. “More than you’d think. My father and I fixed every broken tractor, every busted pickup that ever rattled across this farm. Engines aren’t strangers to me.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine. Be my guest. Not like I have any other options.”

Joe rolled up his sleeves and leaned under the hood. The engine bay smelled of overheated oil, and he spotted loose wiring almost immediately. His hands moved with practiced confidence, adjusting connections, tightening bolts, the way he once had with his father crouched beside him.

“Try it now,” he called after a few minutes, stepping back.

She slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and gasped. The engine roared to life, steady and strong. Her mouth fell open in disbelief before breaking into a radiant smile.

“Oh my God. It actually worked!” She laughed, a sound lighter than her earlier anger. Stepping out, she shut the door and faced him. “I can’t believe it. And I can’t believe I doubted you. Thank you. Really—thank you.”

Joe smiled, brushing grease from his hands. “Don’t worry about it. Happy to help.”

She extended her hand. “I’m Selene. And you, my friend, are a lifesaver. My shining hero, honestly. Without you, I’d probably still be yelling at that engine until nightfall.”

Joe shook her hand firmly. “Name’s Joe. And like I said, it’s no trouble.”

But Selene wasn’t ready to leave. Her eyes drifted past him toward the farmhouse, where the screen door creaked in the breeze. “You live here… with your family? It’s beautiful. I’ve never been on a real farm before.”

Joe tilted his head. “Well, if you’re thirsty, why don’t you come inside for a drink? My wife Alice makes sweet tea better than anyone in the county.”

Selene’s eyes brightened, curiosity flickering. “That sounds… wonderful, actually. And if it’s not too much trouble, I wouldn’t mind seeing the place. I’ve only ever known city streets and office towers. Farms like this? They’re almost mythical where I come from.”

Joe chuckled. “Then consider this your first tour. Alice will be glad to meet you.”

They walked up the path together, gravel crunching underfoot. As they reached the porch, the screen door swung open, and a woman with warm eyes and flour-dusted hands appeared. Alice wiped her palms on her apron, her face lighting up when she saw Selene.

“Joe, who’s this?”

“This is Selene,” Joe said. “Her car broke down out front. I gave her a hand.”

Alice’s smile deepened. “Well, you’ve come at the perfect time. Lunch is just about ready.”

Selene blushed, holding up her hands. “Oh, no, I couldn’t impose. I already ate—”

But right then, her stomach growled loud enough to betray her. The three of them laughed, and Joe shook his head.

“Don’t argue,” he said. “Sit with us. We insist.”

Inside, the kitchen smelled of cornbread and roasted chicken. Sunlight poured across the wooden table where mason jars gleamed with iced tea. Joe pulled out a chair, and Selene sat, looking oddly nervous, like a stranger stepping into a world she’d only ever seen in movies.

Alice set down a basket of biscuits, still steaming, and passed Selene a plate. “Eat,” she said warmly. “We don’t let anyone leave here hungry.”

Selene hesitated only a moment before digging in. One bite, then another, and her expression softened. “This is… incredible. I can’t remember the last time I ate something that tasted so fresh. Everything in the city is wrapped in plastic or comes from a delivery app. This… this feels alive.”

Joe smiled across the table, pride swelling. This was their life: simple, hard, but real.

They ate together for nearly an hour, laughter weaving through the clatter of forks and the chatter of Joe’s daughters who wandered in from outside. Selene listened as the little girls told stories about chasing fireflies and riding horses, her eyes shimmering with something Joe couldn’t quite name.

When the plates were finally cleared, Alice poured one last round of sweet tea. Selene leaned back, sighing. “I can’t thank you enough. For the food, the company… and the help with my car. This whole day turned upside down because of you.”

Joe waved it off. “Like I said, it’s nothing.”

But Selene shook her head, her gaze steady. “No, Joe. It’s not nothing. You didn’t have to stop what you were doing. You didn’t have to invite me in. But you did. And that means more than you think.”

Joe looked away, embarrassed by the weight of her gratitude. He’d never thought twice about helping someone in trouble. It was just who he was.

Alice stood, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why don’t we show Selene around the farm? She’s never been on one before.”

Selene’s face lit up. “Really? I’d love that.”

The three of them stepped out into the sunlight once again, the smell of earth and hay wrapping around them. Chickens scattered at their feet, and in the distance, the horses raised their heads, ears twitching as though curious about the visitor.

Selene smiled wide, her earlier frustration gone as if it had never existed. For the first time all day, she looked at peace.

What none of them knew was that the simple decision to open their door would soon bring a gift they could never have imagined—a gift that would shake the foundations of their farm, their future, and their very lives.

…

The afternoon sun hung lower as Joe, Alice, and Selene stepped into the open yard. The farm stretched around them in every direction: a patchwork of tilled earth, weathered fences, and grazing animals framed against an endless sky.

Selene paused at the porch steps, letting the sounds wash over her—the clucking of chickens, the low bellow of a distant cow, the squeals of children chasing each other through the tall grass.

“It’s… beautiful,” she whispered.

Alice smiled softly. “It’s messy and noisy and always one step from falling apart. But yes, there’s beauty here too.”

They began the tour, starting with the chicken coop where hens fluttered around Selene’s heels. She laughed nervously, holding her jacket close. “They’re braver than I expected.”

Joe chuckled. “They know when someone’s new. Don’t worry, they won’t bite.”

From there, they moved toward the stables. The horses raised their heads as the trio approached, ears flicking with curiosity. Alice reached out to stroke a chestnut mare named Daisy, while Joe introduced each by name.

Selene tilted her head, surprised. “You actually name them? All of them?”

“Of course,” Joe replied. “How else would we know who’s who? They’re family, same as us.”

Selene hesitated, then extended a hand toward one of the horses. “May I?”

Alice guided her closer. “This one’s Frederick. He’s gentle as they come.”

Selene’s fingers brushed the horse’s nose, and to her amazement, the animal leaned into her touch. Her breath caught. “Oh… he’s warm. And soft. I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Joe noticed her expression shift. Something fragile flickered there—like a child rediscovering a wonder she thought she’d outgrown.

As they walked further, Selene asked questions about everything: how often the animals were fed, how long it took to harvest the fields, what it cost to maintain all of it. Joe answered honestly, sometimes with pride, sometimes with the weary sigh of a man carrying more than he admitted.

“The farm’s a blessing,” he said finally, “but it’s a burden too. Some days the bills feel taller than the barn.”

Selene glanced at him sharply, as if filing the words away.

The children reappeared, breathless and wild-haired. One of them carried a fistful of daisies plucked from the edge of the field. Without a word, she held them out to Selene.

Selene knelt, stunned. “For me?”

The little girl nodded shyly.

Selene’s throat tightened. She took the flowers carefully, as though they might vanish. “Thank you. These are… perfect.”

Alice watched, her heart softening at the sight. Something about Selene’s reaction felt deeper than polite gratitude.

They ended the tour at the barn, the heart of the farm. Dust motes swirled in the golden light streaming through the slats. The smell of hay was thick, mingling with the earthy scent of livestock.

Selene lingered near the stalls, her gaze darting from the cows to the tools to the old tractor parked in the corner. “I’ve never seen anything like this up close. My world is… glass and concrete. This feels real. Solid. Honest.”

Joe leaned against a beam, wiping his brow. “It’s honest, all right. Hard too. But I wouldn’t trade it.”

For a long moment, Selene said nothing. She just stood there, staring at the rough-hewn walls as if they held some secret she couldn’t quite name.

Then she turned, her eyes softer than they had been all day. “Joe, Alice… you’ve given me more than I expected. Not just the meal or the tour. You’ve given me a glimpse of something I didn’t even know I was missing.”

Alice tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

Selene hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Home. A real home. Not just a place you sleep, but a place that breathes with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the dust.

Joe shifted uncomfortably, unused to such raw honesty from a stranger. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime. We don’t have much, but what we have, we share.”

Selene’s smile deepened. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small leather notebook. Flipping it open, she scribbled something quickly, shielding the page with her hand. Joe caught a glimpse of the pen gliding across paper, but he didn’t ask.

When she finished, she tore the page free and folded it. “Alice, Joe,” she said, stepping closer, “I want you to have this.”

Joe frowned, confused. “What is it?”

Selene pressed the folded paper into his hand, her expression unreadable. “A thank-you. For everything. For opening your door when you didn’t have to.”

Alice glanced at Joe, eyebrows knitting. “Selene, you didn’t need to—”

But Selene cut her off gently. “Please. Don’t argue. Just accept it.”

Joe unfolded the paper slightly and froze. His breath caught as his eyes scanned the numbers inked across the check. It wasn’t a token of thanks. It was a fortune.

More money than they’d ever seen in their lives.

Alice’s hand flew to her mouth, her knees weakening. “Selene… this… this is impossible.”

Joe tried to thrust it back at her, panic rising. “We can’t accept this. It’s too much. It’s not right.”

Selene only shook her head. “It’s exactly right. You helped me when you didn’t have to. You showed me kindness without expecting a thing in return. Let me do the same. Please.”

Joe’s hands trembled, the check burning hot between his fingers. He looked at Alice, whose eyes were already wet with tears.

Selene’s voice softened. “Think of it not as charity, but as balance. You gave me hope today. I want to give you freedom.”

The barn seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with disbelief. For years, every dollar had been stretched, every decision weighed against debt. And now, here was a stranger offering to erase that burden with a single piece of paper.

Joe swallowed hard. “Selene, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” she whispered. “Just this once, let someone else carry the weight.”

Alice reached for Joe’s arm, squeezing. Her voice broke. “Maybe this is the miracle we’ve been praying for.”

Joe looked at the faces around him—his wife, his children peeking curiously from the doorway, and Selene, standing with quiet determination.

And in that moment, he realized nothing about this day had been ordinary.

The woman who had stumbled onto his farm with a broken car was about to hand them a future they never dared to imagine.

…

Joe’s hands shook as if the slip of paper weighed a hundred pounds. His breath came uneven, his chest tight. The barn, with its familiar creak of rafters and smell of hay, suddenly felt like another world altogether.

“This isn’t right,” he muttered, thrusting the check back at Selene. “We can’t take this. It’s too much.”

Alice clutched his arm, eyes wide with disbelief. “Joe…”

But he pressed harder, his voice cracking. “We don’t even know you. You don’t owe us a thing.”

Selene stood firm, her gaze locked on his. “You’re wrong. I do owe you. Maybe not in a way you can see. But today—you gave me something I haven’t felt in years. Kindness without strings. Do you know how rare that is in my world?”

Joe shook his head. “This isn’t about strings. It’s about dignity. We can’t just take handouts.”

Selene’s lips curved into the faintest smile, though her eyes shimmered. “This isn’t a handout. It’s a gift. And sometimes… the hardest thing is learning to receive.”

Alice’s voice trembled as she looked from Joe to Selene. “She’s right, Joe. Think about it—how many nights have we lain awake, wondering if we’ll make it through the season? How many times have we prayed for something, anything, to help us breathe again?”

Joe’s jaw tightened. He had never let himself dream too much. Dreams felt dangerous when reality had a way of snapping them apart. But seeing the number on that check—it lit a fire in him he was almost afraid to acknowledge.

Selene stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Do you know what I see when I look at you two? I see people who deserve more. People who break themselves open every day for a life that barely gives back. That’s not failure—that’s strength. And it deserves to be honored.”

Joe’s throat closed. His instinct screamed to push it away, to slam the barn door shut on this impossible moment. But another voice—quieter, deeper—whispered that maybe this was the answer he hadn’t dared expect.

The children, sensing the gravity, edged closer. One of them clutched Alice’s skirt, peering at the check in Joe’s trembling hand. “Daddy,” she whispered, “does this mean we can fix the tractor?”

The words gutted him. He had patched that tractor a dozen times, praying it would last one more season. He had told his girls “not now” so many times he’d lost count. And here, in his hand, was the chance to finally say yes.

Joe’s eyes burned. He turned to Selene. “Why us? Out of everyone you could help, why us?”

Selene’s expression softened. “Because you didn’t look at me like a wallet. You didn’t see a stranger stranded on your road and think, ‘What can I get out of this?’ You just helped. And in my world, that kind of heart is rarer than gold.”

Alice covered her mouth, tears spilling over. “Selene…”

Selene reached out, gently closing Joe’s fingers around the check. “If you refuse this, you’re not just refusing money. You’re refusing me—the chance to give back, the chance to make meaning out of my own blessings. Please don’t take that from me.”

For a long moment, no one moved. The barn was silent except for the restless shuffling of the animals.

Then Joe let out a ragged breath. His shoulders slumped, the fight leaving him. He looked at Alice, at his daughters, at the stranger who felt less like a stranger with every passing second.

Slowly, he nodded.

Alice broke into quiet sobs, throwing her arms around him. The children squealed, not fully understanding, only sensing that something enormous had shifted.

Selene smiled through tears. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me either.”

Joe finally found his voice, though it was raw. “We’ll never forget this. Not as long as we live.”

Selene tilted her head. “I’m not asking you to. Just promise me one thing—use it. Don’t be afraid to build the life you’ve dreamed of. Let this farm breathe again. Let your girls see what’s possible.”

Alice squeezed Selene’s hand, her voice steady now. “We promise.”

The rest of the afternoon blurred. They walked Selene back to her car, the engine still purring from Joe’s repair. She hugged each of them in turn—Alice first, then the children, and finally Joe.

When her arms wrapped around him, Joe felt a weight lift from his chest, as though the years of silent struggle had cracked open. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Selene pulled back, her eyes shining. “I have to leave now. It’s a long drive back to the city. But I hope… I truly hope this isn’t goodbye.”

Alice’s voice shook. “You’ll always have a place here.”

Selene smiled, slid into the driver’s seat, and started down the gravel road. The family stood together, watching the car grow smaller until it disappeared over the horizon.

Only then did Alice whisper, “Joe… this feels like a dream.”

He pulled her close, holding her tight. “It’s not a dream, Alice. It’s our new reality. And we’re going to make it count.”

The girls twirled in the fading light, their laughter rising to the sky as the sun dipped behind the fields. Joe felt tears slip free, but for once, they weren’t born of fear.

They were born of hope.

That night, after the children were tucked in, Joe and Alice sat at the kitchen table with the check between them. The lamplight flickered, throwing long shadows across the worn wood.

Alice traced the numbers with her finger, almost afraid they would vanish. “What do we do first?”

Joe leaned back, exhaling. “We fix the tractor. Replace the broken roof on the barn. Pay off the debts. Then…” He looked at her, his eyes fierce with determination. “Then we dream again.”

Alice reached across the table, taking his hand. For the first time in years, she felt the weight of survival shift into something lighter—something that looked like a future.

And though Selene was gone, her presence lingered in every corner of the house, every breath of relief, every glance they shared.

Joe had always believed that miracles were for other people. But tonight, with the check resting on the table between them, he realized the truth.

Sometimes, miracles arrive not in thunder or lightning, but in the quiet kindness of a stranger who simply decides to care.

…

The weeks that followed felt like waking into a world Joe and Alice had never dared to imagine.

The check sat in their bank account like a quiet giant, not flashy, not loud, but powerful enough to reshape the course of their lives. And Joe—who had spent decades patching tractors with baling wire and praying over bank statements—finally allowed himself to breathe.

The first change came quickly. The old tractor, held together with more hope than steel, was replaced by a gleaming new model that purred to life with the turn of a key. Joe stood beside it the morning it arrived, running his hand across the polished frame, eyes wet. “No more begging you to start, old girl,” he whispered, patting the rusted relic it replaced.

The roof of the barn came next. For years, rain had dripped through holes, soaking hay and spoiling feed. Now, with a crew of local builders, the barn stood proud again, its new tin roof shining like armor under the Kansas sun. Neighbors drove by slowly, tipping their hats, whispering about the sudden change. Some asked questions. Joe only smiled.

Alice used part of the money to pay off lingering debts. The relief in her face when the final notice was stamped “PAID” was something Joe would never forget. She wept into his chest, whispering, “We’re free, Joe. We’re finally free.”

But the greatest joy came from the children.

For the first time, Joe and Alice could give their daughters more than survival. They enrolled them in music lessons, bought books they had once said “not now” to, and began saving for college. One evening, the girls ran into the house, clutching acceptance letters from a summer program in the city. Alice cried again, this time with pride.

The farm, once a place of constant struggle, became a place of growth.

Cows filled the pastures, chickens crowded the coops, and a pair of new horses joined Frederick and Daisy in the stables. The family no longer worried about whether they could afford feed or repairs. They could plan. They could dream.

And yet, beneath the joy, there was something else: a deep, humbling gratitude. Joe often stood on the porch at sunset, watching the fields glow gold, and thought of Selene. He wondered where she was, if she remembered the farm, if she ever looked back on that day the way they did every single evening.

Alice felt it too. Sometimes, when she baked bread or poured sweet tea, she’d set an extra place at the table without realizing. The girls spoke of Selene often, asking when she might visit again.

Months passed before the answer came.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon when a sleek black car pulled up the drive, its tires crunching over gravel. Joe wiped his hands on a rag, stepping out of the barn. When the door opened and Selene stepped out, dressed in simple jeans and a sweater instead of city heels, Joe’s face broke into a smile he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Alice!” he shouted. “Girls! Look who’s here!”

The family rushed out, surrounding Selene in hugs. She laughed, tears springing to her eyes. “I told you this wasn’t goodbye.”

They led her inside, where the table quickly filled with food. Over cornbread and cider, Selene listened to every detail of how the farm had changed. Joe showed her the new tractor, Alice showed her the debt-free receipts pinned proudly to the fridge, and the girls played their first halting songs on a battered guitar.

Selene’s eyes shone. “This… this is everything I hoped for. You’ve built something beautiful.”

Joe shook his head. “We didn’t build this alone. You gave us the chance. And we’ll never stop being grateful.”

Selene reached across the table, squeezing his hand. “Then promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll keep going. That you’ll keep giving to others the way you gave to me that day.”

Alice’s voice was steady. “We promise.”

From then on, Joe and Alice made it their mission to pay the gift forward. They helped neighbors repair barns, donated feed when another farmer’s crops failed, and opened their doors to strangers who wandered down that same gravel road.

Because they knew now what they hadn’t before: kindness multiplies.

Years later, long after the girls had gone to college and started families of their own, Joe would sit on the porch in his rocking chair, Alice by his side, and watch the sun dip below the fields. The farm was thriving, alive with the hum of tractors and the laughter of grandchildren.

And sometimes, when the wind was just right, Joe swore he could still hear that scream—the one that had shattered his quiet afternoon so long ago. Only now, he didn’t hear desperation. He heard destiny.

He’d lean back, take Alice’s hand, and whisper, “Funny, isn’t it? How a broken car on a back road changed everything.”

Alice would smile, her eyes soft. “Not just the car, Joe. The kindness. That’s what changed it all.”

And as twilight settled over the land, Joe would close his eyes, his heart full.

Because sometimes the greatest miracles don’t fall from the sky. They arrive on four worn tires, carried by a stranger who walks into your barn and leaves behind the rest of your life.