Fate blessed me with a son… One day, I extended a helping hand to a homeless boy, and now he’s a university student!
My life took a turn on a chilly autumn evening.
I was heading home after a long day at work. The wind cut through me like a knife, and the city seemed deserted – the few people around hurried along, their faces buried in their collars.
As I turned onto my street, a thin figure emerged from the shadows of one of the houses.
In front of me stood a boy – skinny, wearing just a light shirt, clutching a trembling knife. I couldn’t tell if his shaking was caused by the autumn cold or fear.
“Give me your wallet,” he rasped in a hoarse voice.
Calmly, I took out my wallet and handed it to him. Then, after a moment’s thought, I took off my coat and offered it to him as well.
He took a step back, staring at me with wide eyes.
“Why are you doing this?”
I smiled and said, “Because if you’re in this situation, it means you had no other choice.”
Suddenly, the boy broke down in tears. Now, under the streetlamp, I could see his face clearly—he was just a child. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though he was almost as tall as me.
I invited him home for a cup of hot tea.
He hesitated, unsure if he could trust me. But eventually, he came along.
I lived alone… but that night changed everything.
The house was warm. I brewed some tea and sat him at the table.
He looked around with undisguised curiosity. When his gaze landed on my bookshelf, he froze.
“You have so many books,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Have you read them all?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never read a book in my life,” he admitted, without a hint of shame, just sadness.
Gradually, he opened up. He told me he was born into a poor family. His mother passed away when he was very young. They wanted to send him to a children’s home, but he ran away.
Since then, he lived on the streets. He learned to survive. He learned to steal.
And his father?
He just lowered his head and fell silent in response to that question.
I looked at him and understood: he was just a child. Abandoned, unwanted. Life hadn’t given him any chances, but if no one extended a hand, he would be lost.
“Stay here with me. At least spend the night in warmth,” I offered.
He looked at me with suspicion but agreed.
I took him in like my own son.
That night, I hardly slept. My mind was filled with thoughts: what would happen to him? Where would he go tomorrow?
By morning, I knew for sure that I wouldn’t let him go.
“Do you want to try starting a new life?” I asked over breakfast.
He shrugged.
“I’ve got nothing to lose anyway.”
And so, he stayed.
I helped get his paperwork in order, enrolled him back in school. At first, it was hard for him – he hadn’t attended classes since the fourth grade, but he tried his best. The teachers were skeptical at first but soon saw potential in him.
I taught him what I knew. I helped him with homework. I explained that stealing was not the answer, that you could achieve a lot in life with some effort.
He had such a thirst for knowledge! He read everything he could get his hands on. Sometimes, he stayed up late into the night studying books.
I was proud of him.
Today, he’s a university student!
Several years passed.
Now, Nicholas is a university student. He’s studying and working, paying for his education himself, eager not to be a burden.
I know he has a bright future ahead. He’ll find a job, start a family.
He’s no longer that freezing boy with a knife in his hands.
He’s my son.
No, I’m not officially listed in his documents, but that doesn’t matter. The most important thing is that when he refers to me, he calls me:
“Dad.”
And that’s the most precious thing I have.
