I think you need a hug, can I hug you? The words were soft but clear, piercing through the frosty hush of Central Park like a whisper from another life. James Holloway turned his head slowly, drawn out of the heavy fog of his thoughts. A little black girl stood before him, her cheeks pink with cold, one mitten missing.

Her hair was tucked under a too-large knit hat, and she looked up at him with wide steady eyes. I, what did you say? You look like you need a hug, she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. James blinked, unaccustomed to being addressed, so directal especially not by a child.

His world had shrunk down to executive memos, quiet dinners alone, and nights where grief echoed louder than silence. I’m Maya, she added, shifting from one boot to another on the icy ground. My mommy says hugs don’t fix everything, but they help.

He managed a soft laugh. That’s pretty wise. I’m five, she said proudly, then added, and a half.

James smiled despite himself. Well, thank you for the offer, Maya. She looked down at something on her wrist, a colorful woven bracelet made of yarn and tiny plastic beads.

After a pause, she unfastened it and held it out to him. You should wear this. It helps me when I’m sad, James hesitated.

The bracelet was handmade, frayed in places, clearly precious. I couldn’t, it’s okay, she interrupted gently, I can make another one. He took it carefully, humbled.

She reached out and slid it over his glove and up onto his wrist. It looked out of place against his tailored overcoat and thousand-dollar watch. But it felt right.

I’m James, he said. It’s very nice to meet you, Maya. She smiled.

Wanna meet my mommy? She’s right over there. James followed her finger toward a nearby bench. A woman sat wrapped in a thick coat, her eyes tracking Maya like a hawk.

There was a paper bag of groceries at her feet. She looked tired, but alert wary, even. Maya reached for James’s hand.

Come on, she’s nice, you’ll like her. He let himself be led. It was absurd, this situation, a powerful CEO being escorted through a snowy park by a five-year-old.

Yet something about Maya’s presence felt disarming, like a crack of sunlight in a long winter. As they neared, the woman stood. Her gaze moved from Maya to James, guarded but polite.

Maya, she said firmly, we’ve talked about wandering off. I didn’t go far, mommy. He looked like he needed someone.

The woman’s eyes landed on James. I’m sorry about her forwardness. It’s all right, James said, his voice surprisingly soft.

She’s something special. She nodded slowly. I’m Anna, thank you for not being, you know, a threat? James offered with a wry smile.

Yes, there was a pause. Anna looked at the bracelet on his wrist and then back at him. She gives those only when she means it.

I figured, he said glancing at it. I’m honored. They stood in silence for a beat longer before Anna gestured to the bench.

Would you like some coffee? It’s instant, but it’s warm. James nodded, and they sat. The coffee came from a battered thermos, slightly burnt and overly sweet, but it was comforting.

Maya nestled between them, sipping cocoa from a small cup, content. You’re not from around here, Anna said after a moment. I live just a few blocks away, actually, Upper West Side.

Her eyebrows lifted, just slightly. You don’t strike me as the park bench type. Not usually, James admitted.

Today’s an exception. Anniversary? James blinked at her. Excuse me? You’ve got that look, Anna said gently, like someone remembering something that hurts.

He hesitated. Three years ago, I lost my wife and my son, car accident. She froze, her breath caught, barely visible in the air.

I’m sorry, she said. I, I think I might have treated them. He looked at her, confused.

I used to work at St. Luke’s Emergency Care. I was on rotation the night of a crash mother and son, both in critical condition. The woman had a chain with a locket, photos inside.

James’s stomach dropped. A silver chain, with a gold clasp? Yes, Anna whispered. That was her, he said, voice tight.

You were there? I didn’t know you were. I mean, I didn’t know who the husband was. It was chaos.

I stayed with her as long as I could. James swallowed hard. Something sharp and grateful welled in his throat.

Thank you. She looked away, blinking quickly. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.

You stayed, he said. That means more than you know. Moments like these remind us that sometimes, the smallest kindness can change everything.

Take a moment to tell us where you’re watching from in the comments we love hearing from you. And if you haven’t already, be sure to like this video and subscribe for more powerful stories that stay with you long after the screen fades to black. They sat quietly, the wind brushing through the trees.

Maya rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, eyes drooping. I used to be in nursing school, Anna said softly. Had to leave when Maya came, still hoping to finish someday.

You should, James said, glancing at Maya, then at Anna. Some people are meant to help others. Um, Anna gave a tired smile.

It doesn’t pay the rent. James looked at the bracelet again. The simple yarn and beads felt heavier now, like a promise.

I’ll be around, he said as he rose. If you don’t mind, Anna studied him. We’re usually here around this time.

He nodded and looked down at Maya. Thank you, for the bracelet. You keep it, she said sleepily, until you’re not sad anymore.

Um, as James walked back through the snow, the bracelet snug on his wrist. The cold seemed just a little less biting. He didn’t smile, but something inside him had shifted…

For the first time in years, he felt the faint, fragile tug of healing wrapped in yarn and offered by the smallest hands. The next morning, James Holloway stood in front of his bathroom mirror, fully dressed in his charcoal suit and pale blue tie, but his gaze was fixed on the colorful, handmade bracelet still snug around his wrist. He’d tried to take it off, twice, yet each time his fingers brushed the frayed yarn, he hesitated, as though removing it would undo the fragile thread that had pulled him out of his loneliness for one brief evening.

He left it on, his penthouse on the Upper West Side overlooked the skyline, glass and steel rising like monuments to ambition. Yet the air inside remained cold, untouched by laughter or conversation. Breakfast sat untouched on the counter scrambled eggs and grapefruit, the kind of meal he used to make for his son on school mornings.

He hadn’t cooked like that in years. James pushed the plate away, he checked the time, it was too early to visit the park, but he found himself putting on his overcoat anyway, sliding his hands into leather gloves, and descending the elevator before reason could stop him. By 9.30, the air was crisp, and the park dusted in a new layer of snow.

He walked without thinking, drawn back to the bench, it was empty. James sat down, the cold biting through his coat. He looked at the bracelet again bright blues, reds, and greens woven together by tiny, clumsy fingers.

There was something pure about it, no agenda, no expectation, just care. He stayed for nearly an hour before rising to leave. That afternoon, during a board meeting, he caught one of the VPs glancing at his wrist.

New accessory, Mr. Holloway? The man joked. Looks, cheerful. James didn’t answer.

The man chuckled nervously and turned back to the quarterly projections. James, however, found himself watching the bracelet as his fingers absently traced its edge beneath the table. It was a reminder not of charity, but of connection, of humanity.

Later that day, at exactly the same time as the day before, he returned to Central Park. They were there. Anna sat on the same bench, reading a worn paperback.

Maya was crouched near a pile of breadcrumbs, feeding pigeons with a seriousness usually reserved for major negotiations. James hesitated before walking over. Hey, he said gently.

Maya looked up, her face lighting like a lamp. Mr. James. Um.

She ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist without hesitation. Anna stood, brushing snow off her coat. Well, I guess you’re a regular now.

I suppose I am. You kept the bracelet, she noted, her voice softer. James raised his wrist.

I tried to take it off. Couldn’t. Maya grinned.

Told you it helps, Anna chuckled. She thinks her crafts have magical properties. They might, James said.

It’s been a long time since someone gave me something just because they wanted to. Anna studied him for a moment. You’re not here by accident, are you? No, he admitted.

I’m not. She nodded slowly, accepting the answer without pushing. Well, you’re welcome to sit.

Coffee? Please. They passed the thermos again, Maya curling up between them with her cocoa. Anna broke the quiet first.

Maya was born at Roosevelt. I was 24. Her dad left before she could say her first word.

Uh. James didn’t flinch. I’m sorry.

I’m not, she replied. It was hard, but it taught me what love really means. The kind that stays.

The kind you build on. He nodded, thoughtful. She was a quiet baby, Anna continued.

But not anymore. Now she’s pure spirit. Always asking questions.

She asked me yesterday if I believed people could stop being sad, James said. I didn’t know how to answer. Anna looked at him.

And today? I’m still not sure, he admitted. But, I think I want to find out. They sat in silence for a while.

Then James turned to Maya. Do you come here every day? Not Sundays, that’s library day, she said with pride. I love books.

Me too, he said. What’s your favorite? Harold and the Purple Crayon, she answered instantly. He draws his own world.

James smiled. That’s a good one. The wind picked up.

And Anna pulled Maya’s coat tighter. She glanced at James. Then at the playground nearby.

Do you want to take her over for a bit? She asked. I’ll clean up our stuff. James hesitated.

But Maya was already pulling at his hand. Come on. I’ll show you the twisty slide.

The playground was mostly empty. The few children there bundled in layers. James helped Maya up the ladder.

His hands steadying her back instinctively. She reached the top. Turned.

And beamed down at him. Watch me. She slid down, landing with a puff of snow and laughter.

James laughed too real, full. It felt strange. Wonderful.

She ran up again. Again. He didn’t stop her.

By the time they returned to Anna, Maya’s cheeks were glowing. And her mittenless hand was pink from cold. Anna looked at them with quiet surprise.

She doesn’t usually warm up to people this fast. She’s hard not to like, James said. They packed up their things.

James offered to walk them to the shelter. But Anna declined. We’re fine.

You’ve already given us more than enough. He looked down at Maya. I’ll see you again.

You’d better, she said with mock sternness. Anna smiled. Same time tomorrow? Same time….

As they walked away, James stood watching until they disappeared into the trees. The bracelet on his wrist felt warmer now, like it belonged there. That night, back in his penthouse, James did something he hadn’t done in years.

He opened a drawer, pulled out a photo of his wife and son, and placed it on the mantle. He looked at it for a long time, then whispered, I met someone today. Two someones actually.

He didn’t know where this was going. But for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was drifting. And the bracelet still on his wrist reminded him that maybe healing didn’t come in grand gestures.

Sometimes, it came in a child’s smile. And a question whispered through the snow. The next few days fell into a quiet rhythm.

Each afternoon, just before the sun dipped behind the skyline. James found himself walking the familiar path to the bench near the lake in Central Park. Anna and Maya were always there, sometimes reading, sometimes feeding the birds, always waiting with a smile that reached past politeness and touched something deeper.

It had been a long time since James felt part of something that wasn’t dictated by contracts, deadlines, or performance metrics. What he found on that park bench was not a transaction. It was presence.

It was human. One afternoon, as the first hints of spring flirted with the cold air, Maya greeted him with a new bracelet. This one was brighter yellow and green and she insisted he wear it alongside the first.

James obliged. His wrist now a patchwork of joy he carried into every boardroom and breakfast meeting. Anna noticed.

You don’t hide them, she said as they sipped coffee on the bench. I don’t want to, he replied. She smiled.

Most people do. James glanced at her. I spent years hiding pain.

I think I owe it to myself to show what’s healing me. Anna looked down at her hands. That’s brave.

James tilted his head. I think surviving quietly is braver. She didn’t answer, but her silence wasn’t empty.

Later that day, as Maya played nearby on the swings, Anna opened up more. I saw your photo yesterday, she said. James turned.

My photo? In the paper. Business section. James Holloway CEO of Holloway Capital.

I didn’t connect the name at first. He gave a small nod. Most people know the company.

Few know the man. She looked at him carefully. You didn’t tell me.

Would it have mattered? She thought for a moment. Number, but I’m glad I know. He hesitated.

Does it change how you see me? No, she said firm. But it does explain the suit. They both laughed.

And for a moment, the air was easier to breathe. Then her smile faded slightly. I looked up the crash.

James stiffened. Anna went on gently. I wanted to be sure.

That night at the ERI didn’t know who I was treating. But I remember your wife. And your son.

James didn’t speak. So she continued. She had a wedding ring engraved inside.

I remember tracing it with my thumb when we couldn’t find her ID. He looked at her. It was inscribed with Forever still isn’t long enough.

Anna nodded slowly. Yes. Ah.

Silence fell between them. Not awkward, but sacred. I stayed with her, Anna whispered.

Until she passed. I thought. Maybe someone should.

James’s voice cracked. Thank you. She looked at him.

Her eyes suddenly glassy. I’ve never told anyone that. They sat without words.

The breeze stirring Anna’s coat. Maya’s laughter floating from the playground. She was kind.

Anna said softly. And scared, but peaceful. James closed his eyes.

Swallowed hard. She was the best person I knew. Anna reached out.

Hesitated. Then placed her hand over his. They sat like that for a while.

A week later, James invited them both to lunch at a small corner cafe off Columbus Avenue. It wasn’t lavish. Just a cozy diner with checkered floors and aging waitresses who knew regulars by name.

Maya delighted in the grilled cheese and tomato soup, while Anna politely refused anything more expensive than a coffee and club sandwich. James watched them with quiet awe. The world that had once felt sterile was now full of unexpected texture.

Maya’s giggles over floating crackers. Anna’s way of holding the cup with both hands as if grounding herself. The hum of connection that hummed beneath it all.

As they walked home, Maya skipping between them, James turned to Anna. Do you wanna go back to nursing school? Anna looked at him, startled. I think about it every day.

What stops you? Tuition, time, the fear that I’m too far behind. Um, you’re not, he said. She looked away.

I wouldn’t feel right taking help. This isn’t charity, James replied gently. It’s investment in someone who stayed, in someone who mattered when it counted.

Anna’s eyes found his. You don’t have to do this. I know.

Maya, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, tugged his hand. Can we get hot chocolate? James smiled. Only if we get extra marshmallows.

That night, James returned to his penthouse and sat by the fire. He didn’t turn on the television. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out an old journal his wife sprayed in.

It had been untouched since the accident. He flipped through pages stained with time, sketches of birthday plans, grocery lists, doodles of their son’s messy curls. Then he found something he’d forgotten a note tucked between the pages in her handwriting.

If something happens to me, don’t close off. Please, let someone in. Even if it’s not like uslet, it’d be something good.

Um, James sat for a long time, staring at the page. Then, slowly, he placed it next to the photograph on the mantle. He touched the bracelets on his wrist.

Two colorful strands of yarn now worn but strong. The past would never leave him. But maybe just maybe it could walk beside him without dragging him down.

And Maya’s bracelets? They didn’t just hold his wrist. They held him together. The following Saturday, the sky over Manhattan was a soft shade of pewter, hanging low with the threat of late snow.

James stood outside the small neighborhood market near Anna and Maya’s shelter, holding a modest bag of groceries. He hadn’t told them he was coming. Something inside told him this wasn’t a visit of grandeur but one of quiet offering.

Inside the bag, fresh apples, a small block of cheddar, a loaf of sourdough, a box of herbal tea, and Maya’s favorite those colorful marshmallow cereals that left a trail of sugar across the lips of every delighted child. It wasn’t much, but it was thoughtful. That mattered.

He found them where he always died on the same bench near the swing set. Anna was reading, her hair tucked under a knit cap, shoulders squared against the cold. Maya was skipping in place, counting pigeons and tossing small pieces of bagel at their feet.

Afternoon, James called out. Maya’s head turned first. Mr. James, she shouted, running toward him with open arms.

Anna looked up, her expression shifting from surprise to warmth. You found us on a Saturday. I had a feeling, James said, kneeling to catch Maya’s enthusiastic hug.

Anna stood, brushing snow from her coat. We don’t usually stay out long on weekends. The shelter opens late, gets crowded fast.

James handed her the bag. Just a few things. Thought you might like something different tonight.

Anna looked down at the bag, her hands hesitating before taking it. You didn’t have to do this. I know.

There was silence. Then Maya peeked into the bag, letting out a squeal. Marshmallow stars.

Anna gave James a soft look. You remembered. Some things are worth remembering.

They sat for a while. Sipping coffee, James brought in a second thermos. Maya built snow mounds beside the bench, pretending they were castles for invisible royalty.

James watched her, the way her imagination danced uninhibited. She’s the reason I’m still standing, Anna said suddenly. James turned toward her.

After I dropped out, there were days I didn’t think I could do it. Single mom, no degree, no safety net. Just her and me.

But every time she smiled, I knew I had to try. You did more than try, James said quietly. You stayed.

Anna’s gaze dropped to her gloved hands. That’s the hardest part. Not just showing up once, but over and over.

When nobody’s looking, he nodded. That kind of consistency, it’s the rarest form of love. Maya ran over then, breathless.

Mr. James, can I show you something? Of course. She pulled a piece of folded construction paper from her coat pocket and handed it to him. Inside was a crayon drawing three figures holding hands under a bright sun.

One wore a blue suit and had brown hair like his. Another wore a purple dress and had black curls. The smallest one had two bracelets and a huge smile.

That’s me, she said proudly. And mommy. And you.

James stared at it longer than he intended. You’re quite the artist, Maya beamed. I made it for you.

He folded it carefully and placed it inside his coat pocket. Then I’ll keep it close. Anna glanced at her watch.

We should head back. It’s almost shelter dinner. Um, I’ll walk you there, James offered.

The shelter was two blocks away, tucked between an aging laundromat and a tax office. Its brick exterior was faded, and the inside buzzed with fatigue. People sat quietly, clutching their bags, waiting for meals that were more about warmth than flavor.

Anna signed in at the front desk while Maya clung to James’s coat. Do you ever get scared? She asked suddenly. James crouched beside her.

Sometimes. But being scared isn’t the same as being alone. Uh, she nodded thoughtfully.

I feel better when you’re with us. He didn’t know how to respond, so he squeezed her hand. Before they entered, Anna paused.

Thank you, for today, for… caring. James smiled. It’s not an effort.

It’s a choice I want to keep making. Back in his apartment that night, James pulled the drawing from his coat and pinned it above his fireplace. Next to it, the photo of his wife and son.

For a long time, he just stood there, looking at both. That week, he arranged something discreet. A call to a friend at a local community college.

An inquiry about re-enrollment in the nursing program. A check toward tuition, signed anonymously. He told himself it wasn’t about charity.

It was about seeing something worth investing in and knowing he could help someone finish what they once had to abandon. The next time he saw Anna, she looked tired but somehow lighter. I got a call, she said, from Westboro College.

They said someone had set up a scholarship in my name, covered the next two semesters. James raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. That’s amazing.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I might know someone who knows someone. Anna laughed softly…

You’re impossible. I’m persistent. Maya tugged his sleeve.

Does this mean Mommy gets to be Nurse Anna again? Yes, Anna said, tears in her eyes. It does. Uh, James bent to look Maya in the eyes.

Your mommy is going to be the best nurse the city’s ever seen. Maya grinned. Can I be her assistant? Anna looked at James, then back at her daughter.

Sweetheart, you already are. That night, as James walked home alone, a light snow began to fall. The city shimmered under streetlights.

He looked up, letting the flakes touch his face. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was walking back into an empty home. He was walking towards something.

Something real. Something good. Something that had begun with a bracelet.

And a hug. On a rainy Thursday morning, James arrived at Holloway Capital’s downtown office wearing the same expression he’d once worn every day focused, unreadable, composed. But something was different.

As he stepped out of the elevator, the receptionist raised an eyebrow, nodded his tailored coat or gleaming shoes, but at the bright, hand-woven bracelets, still hugging his wrist. He ignored the glance. Let them wonder.

His executive assistant, Marla, walked briskly beside him down the hallway. Board meeting at ten, lunch with the Cargill investors at noon, and your brother called twice about the Foundation dinner next week. Reschedule the lunch, James said without slowing.

Marla blinked. Sir, I’ll attend the board meeting. Then I need the afternoon off.

Marla hesitated. May I ask why? James glanced at her with a faint smile. Because I promised someone I’d be at the school office by 1.30. Marla paused, the clipboard in her hands suddenly less important than the warm shift in her boss’s tone.

Very well, sir. As he entered the boardroom, the conversation halted. No one said anything, but James knew the reason.

He looked the part, but the man walking into the room wasn’t the same James Holloway they’d all known. He was still powerful, still sharp, but softer around the edgeless steel, more soul. After the meeting, James returned to his office and opened the drawer where he kept the drawing Maya had made.

He took a moment to look at it before grabbing his coat. The sound of the rain outside only made the city feel smaller, more intimate. By 1.30, he stood outside the local elementary school just a few blocks from the shelter.

Anna had called him the night before her first orientation meeting for nursing school, had been scheduled at the same time as a school conference for Maya. She asked if he could go in her place. He’d said yes before she finished the sentence.

Inside the office, Maya greeted him with a smile that made every dropped stock point and missed meeting fade into irrelevance. You came? I said I would, she beamed, holding his hand as they walked into the counselor’s small office. The teacher, Mrs. Polk, was a kind-faced woman in her 60s with reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

She looked surprised but not displeased when James introduced himself as a family friend. Maya is a remarkable child, she said once the door closed. Bright, curious, and incredibly empathetic.

She’s been helping some of our quieter students come out of their shells. James nodded proudly. That sounds like her, Mrs. Polk paused.

But, there’s something else. James felt the shift in tone. Go on.

She’s mentioned being afraid at night, not of anything specific. Just, general fear. She says she dreams of her mother disappearing, that she wakes up crying sometimes.

James felt a pang in his chest. She doesn’t talk about it much. She wouldn’t, not to another child.

But she feels deeply. I think she picks up more than most people realize. After the meeting, James walked with Maya through the light drizzle, holding her backpack while she skipped beside him.

He didn’t bring up the dreams. Instead, he asked about her favorite school books, her drawings, her lunch. She answered each question like it was the most important topic in the world.

That evening, James met Anna on the shelter steps. She looked tired but energized. The kind of weariness that comes from progress rather than struggle.

How was orientation? He asked. Exciting, she said. Overwhelming.

But it feels right. She’s doing great at school, he told her. But she’s been having some hard dreams.

Anna’s face softened. I know. She clings to me some nights.

I’ve tried to reassure her but… You’re doing everything right, James said firmly. They walked a short stretch in silence. Then Anna stopped.

You didn’t have to go to that conference. You have a company to run. James looked at her.

That company runs itself most days. Maya doesn’t. Anna laughed quietly.

Still, thank you. I meant it when I said this wasn’t charity. I know, she said.

But it’s still more than I ever expected. James hesitated. Have you ever considered moving out of the shelter? She looked at him warily.

James. I’m not suggesting anything dramatic. Just… a temporary place.

A studio apartment I own near the park. Empty, safe, fully furnished. You wouldn’t owe me anything.

No strings. Anna folded her arms. You do realize how this sounds, don’t you? Yes.

That’s why I’m saying it carefully. He met her gaze. You deserve stability.

Maya deserves a door she can lock at night. It’s just an offer. Uh… She studied him for a long moment.

Then nodded. Let me think about it. Of course.

Later that night, James returned to his penthouse, poured himself a cup of chamomile tea, and sat at the window. The city lights shimmered below. But his thoughts were fixed on two people far from Wall Street.

Two people who had quietly become his anchor. He didn’t need charts or forecasts to know he was changing. And it wasn’t just the bracelets or the childlike joy Maya brought.

It was Anna’s steadiness. Her quiet strength. He remembered something his wife once wrote in her journal.

Real love is never loud. It listens. It shows up.

That’s what he was doing now. Showing up. And for the first time in his adult life, it was enough.

The keys felt heavier than they should have. Just a simple perrone for the front door. One for the lobby mailbox.

But when James placed them gently into Anna’s hand the following Tuesday evening, it felt like handing over the first piece of solid ground in a lifelong adrift. They stood outside the apartment building near 86th Street. The neighborhood was quiet.

Tucked between a line of brownstones and a narrow bodega with fading signage. The unit upstairs had been his company’s property for years. Used occasionally for visiting consultants.

It wasn’t glamorous. But it was safe, warm, and filled with the smell of fresh paint and new hope. Anna looked at the keys.

Then up at James. Are you sure? I’ve never been more sure. She glanced at Maya, who stood beside her.

Clutching a small stuffed animal and bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement, James crouched. Wanna see your new home? Maya’s eyes spark lit. Can I pick which bed is mine? Anna smiled softly.

There’s only one bed, sweetie. Maya nodded. Then we share.

The walk up the stairs was quiet. James opened the door to a modest apartment. One bedroom, a living area, kitchenette, and a bathroom with good lighting.

On the small dining table sat a vase of yellow tulips he had picked up that morning. Maya rushed in. Her small boots leaving prints on the hardwood and flopped onto the futon with a giggle.

Anna stepped inside more slowly, her eyes scanning the space as though waiting for the floor to fall through. You can stay as long as you need, James said gently. There’s no clock ticking.

Anna took a deep breath. This feels like too much. James leaned against the doorframe.

You’ve given me more than you realize, Anna. This, this is just balance. She turned to him.

Her voice almost a whisper. I didn’t think people like you people in your world did things like this. Uh, I didn’t either, he said honestly