**Diary Entry 12th March**
“Conrad, are you out of your mind? Do you think Im inviting you to live with me for money? I just feel sorry for you, thats all.”
Conrad sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window at the courtyard below. He hadnt been luckyhis room overlooked the quiet inner square of the hospital, where a few benches and flowerbeds stood, mostly deserted.
It was winter, and patients rarely ventured out for walks. Conrad had been alone in his ward for a week now, ever since his cheerful roommate, Jack Reynolds, had been discharged. Jack had been the lively sorta drama student with a talent for storytelling, always slipping into character as if he were on stage. With him around, boredom was impossible.
Worse still, Jacks mother had visited daily, bringing homemade cakes, fruit, and sweets, which Jack always shared. Now, without him, the room felt empty, and Conrad had never been more aware of his loneliness.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when the nurse entered. His heart sankinstead of Daisy, the pretty young nurse, it was the stern, perpetually frowning Matilda Archer. In the two months hed been here, hed never once seen her smile. Her voice matched her expressionsharp, blunt, and unpleasant.
“Well? Stop dawdling. Into bed!” she barked, syringe in hand.
Conrad sighed and obediently wheeled himself over. With practised efficiency, Matilda helped him lie down, flipped him onto his stomach, and ordered him to pull down his trousers. He barely felt the injectionshe was surprisingly skilled.
*How old is she?* he wondered, watching her examine his thin arm for a vein. *Probably past retirement age. A small pension, forced to keep workingthats why shes so bitter.*
The needle went in smoothly, making him wince only slightly.
“Done. Has the doctor been by yet?” she asked, already packing up.
“Not yet,” Conrad murmured. “Maybe later.”
“Then wait. And dont sit by the windowyoull catch a chill, thin as a rake.” With that, she left.
He wanted to be offended, but couldnt. Beneath her gruffness, there was something almost like care. Not that hed known much of that.
Conrad was an orphan. His parents had died when he was foura house fire in their village home. He was the only survivor, left with badly healed burns on his shoulder and wrist. His mother had thrown him through a window seconds before the roof collapsed.
He remembered littlejust fragments. A village fair, his mother laughing, a flag in his hand. His father lifting him onto his shoulders, the summer breeze on his cheeks. A ginger cat, perhaps called Whiskers or Marmalade. There were no photoseverything had burned.
No one visited him in hospital. Hed grown up in care homes until, at eighteen, the council gave him a small flat in a fourth-floor walk-up. He didnt mind living alone, but sometimes the loneliness weighed so heavily he could have cried.
After school, hed hoped for university, but his grades werent enough. A technical college suited him finethough he kept to himself, preferring books to nights out. The other students found him dull.
Two months ago, rushing to class, hed slipped on icy pavement in the underpass and broken both legs. The fractures were severe, healing slowly and painfully. Now, though, the doctor declared he was well enough to leave.
“Youll need crutches for a few weeks,” said Dr. Bennett. “Go home and take it easy.”
Conrad nodded, though homea walk-up with no liftwas impossible.
Matilda Archer, arms folded, watched him pack.
“Why did you lie to the doctor?” she demanded. “No ones coming for you. How will you manage?”
“Ill manage,” he muttered.
“You wont. Ive been a nurse thirty yearsyou need help.”
“Its not your problem.”
She sat beside him, voice softening. “Conrad, stubbornness wont fix your legs. Stay with me. Ive a spare room.”
He hesitated. She wasnt familyjust a nurse whod scowled at him for months. But she wasnt wrong.
“I cant pay you,” he admitted.
She scoffed. “Do I look like a landlord? Im offering because you need it.”
So he went.
Her cottage was small but cosywooden beams, a crackling fireplace, the smell of roast dinners. At first, Conrad barely left his room, unwilling to impose.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Matilda snapped one evening. “Ask for what you need.”
Gradually, he did. The wheelchair was replaced by crutches, then a walking stick. By the time he was due to return to college, he realised he didnt want to leave.
One evening, as he packed, he turned to find Matilda crying in his doorway. Without thinking, he hugged her.
“Stay,” she whispered.
So he did.
Years later, Matilda sat proudly as his mother at his wedding. A year after that, she held his newborn daughter in the delivery rooma little girl named after her.
And Conrad, whod once thought himself alone, finally had a family.
