Fate gifted me a son… One day, I gave a chance to a homeless boy, and now he’s a university student!
My life changed one chilly autumn evening.
I was heading home after a long day at work. The wind chilled me to the bone, and the city felt deserted—with the few passersby hurrying along, faces tucked into their collars.
As I turned onto my street, a thin figure suddenly emerged from the shadows.
In front of me stood a boy—slim, wearing a light shirt, clutching a knife with trembling hands. I couldn’t tell if he was shaking from the autumn cold or fear.
“Hand over your wallet,” he croaked.
Calmly, I pulled out my wallet and offered it to him. Then, after a moment’s thought, I took off my coat and handed it to him as well.
He stepped back, eyes wide with surprise.
“Why are you doing this?”
I smiled.
“Because if you’ve found yourself in this situation, you clearly didn’t have another choice.”
Suddenly, he began to cry. Under the streetlamp’s glow, I realized he was just a child. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though he was nearly my height.
I invited him to my home for a warm cup of tea.
He hesitated, unsure if he could trust me. But eventually, he agreed.
I lived alone… but that night everything changed.
Inside, it was warm. I brewed tea and sat him by the table.
He looked around with undisguised curiosity. When his gaze landed on my bookshelf, he was mesmerized.
“You have a lot of books,” he noted.
“Yes.”
“Have you read them all?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never read a book in my life,” he admitted, with no shame, only sadness in his voice.
Gradually, he opened up. He shared that he was born into a poor family. That his mother passed away when he was still young. That he was set to be sent to a care home, but he ran away.
Since then, he’d lived on the streets. Learned to survive. Learned to steal.
His father?
To that question, he just bowed his head and went silent.
I looked at him and understood: he was just a child. Abandoned, with nowhere to turn. Life hadn’t given him a chance, but if no one offered a helping hand, he’d simply be lost.
“Stay with me. At least spend the night somewhere warm,” I suggested.
He looked at me with skepticism but agreed.
I took him in as my own son.
That night, I barely slept. Thoughts whirled in my mind: what would become of him? Where would he go tomorrow?
By morning, I knew I couldn’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.”
So he stayed with me.
I sorted his paperwork and got him back into school. Initially, it was tough—he hadn’t been to school since primary grades, but he tried hard. The teachers were skeptical at first, but after a few months, they saw potential in him.
I taught him what I knew. Helped him with his lessons. Explained that stealing wasn’t the answer, that life could offer much more if he worked for it.
He had such a thirst for knowledge! He read everything he could get his hands on. Sometimes, he stayed up late into the night with his books.
I was proud of him.
Today he’s a university student!
Several years have passed.
Now, Nicholas is a student. He studies and works, paying for his education himself, not wanting to be a burden to me.
I know he has a bright future ahead. He will find a job, start a family.
He’s no longer the frozen boy with a knife in his hand.
He is my son.
Yes, I’m not official in his paperwork, but that doesn’t matter. The most important thing is when he talks to me, he says:
“Dad…”
And that is the most precious thing I have.
