Homeless and Hopeless: A Desperate Search for Shelter.
Emily had nowhere to go. Literally, nowhere. “I could spend a few nights at the train station, I suppose. But then what?” Then it hit hera stroke of genius. “The cottage! How could I forget? Though calling it a cottage is generous. Its more of a crumbling shack. Still, better than sleeping on a bench,” she mused.
Boarding the commuter train, Emily leaned against the cold window and shut her eyes. A wave of bitter memories washed over her. Two years ago, shed lost her parents, leaving her utterly alone. With no way to pay for uni, shed dropped out and taken a job at the local supermarket.
Just when things seemed bleakest, luck smiled at hershe met James. Charming, kind, and decent. Within months, they had a modest wedding. Life was finally looking up until it wasnt. James convinced her to sell her parents flat in central London to start a business together.
He painted such a rosy picture that Emily didnt hesitate. “Once were stable, we can start a family. I cant wait to be a mum!” shed dreamed, blissfully naive.
But the business flopped. Endless rows about wasted savings tore them apart. Then James brought another woman home and showed Emily the door.
At first, she considered going to the policebut what could she accuse him of? Shed signed the flat over willingly.
***
Stepping off the train, Emily trudged along the deserted platform. Early spring meant the countryside was still dead quiet. Three years of neglect had left the cottage buried in weeds. “Doesnt matter. Ill fix it up, make it like before,” she told herself, knowing full well nothing would ever be the same.
She found the spare key under the porch, but the warped wooden door refused to budge. After a futile struggle, she plonked onto the steps and burst into tears.
Thensmoke. A rustling from the neighbouring garden. Relieved, Emily dashed over.
“Mrs. Wilkins? Are you home?” she called.
Instead, a scruffy old man knelt by a small fire, boiling water in a grubby tin mug. Emily froze.
“Who are you? Wheres Mrs. Wilkins?” she asked, backing away.
“Dont be afraid, love. And please, no police. Im not trespassingjust staying out here.”
To her surprise, his voice was warm, educated. The kind youd hear at a posh dinner party.
“Youre homeless?” she blurted.
“Spot on,” he admitted, eyes downcast. “You live next door? Dont worry, I wont bother you.”
“Whats your name?”
“Henry.”
“Last name?”
He blinked. “Parker.”
Emily studied him. His clothes, though worn, were clean. His beard neatly trimmed.
“I dont know who else to ask,” she sighed.
“Whats wrong?”
“The doors stuck. I cant get in.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Please.”
As he wrestled with the door, Emily sat on the steps, struck by a thought: *Who am I to judge? Im homeless too.*
“Emmy, give it a try now!” Henry grinned, shoving the door open. “Waityou planning to stay here tonight?”
“Got anywhere better?”
“Any heating?”
“Theres a stove probably.”
“Firewood?”
“No idea,” she admitted glumly.
“Right. Go on inside. Ill fetch something.”
An hour of sweeping later, the cottage was marginally less grim but still freezing. Then Henry returned with firewood. Against all odds, Emily felt a flicker of happinesssomeone was *there*.
He cleaned the stove, lit it, and soon warmth crept into the room.
“Just feed it slowly. And douse it before bedshould keep till morning.”
“And you? Off to the neighbours?”
“Suppose so. Rather not go back to the city. Too many ghosts.”
“Henry Parker, stay. Have dinner first. Tea, at least.”
He didnt argue. Shedding his coat, he sat by the stove.
“Sorry if Im prying but you dont seem like you belong on the streets. What happened?”
Henry had spent his life teaching at Cambridge, devoted to academia. Old age crept up, and suddenly, he was alone.
A year ago, his niece, Charlotte, started visiting. Sweetly, she suggested he sign his flat over to herfor “help” in his golden years. Delighted, he agreed.
Then Charlotte proposed selling his cramped London flat for a cosy countryside home. “Found the perfect place, Uncle!”
Dreaming of fresh air, Henry handed over the proceeds. At the bank, she said, “Wait hereIll sort the paperwork. Dont want to risk carrying all this cash.”
She never came back.
By the time Henry realised, Charlotte had vanishedalong with his life savings.
“Bloody awful,” he muttered. “Still cant believe it.”
“Same,” Emily said, sharing her own tale.
“Ah, but youre young. Plenty of time to bounce back.”
“Enough gloom. Lets eat!”
Watching Henry wolf down beans on toast, Emilys heart ached. How cruel, to end up alone and unwanted.
“Emmy, I could help you back to uni. Still know a few people. Get you a scholarship, maybe.”
“Really?”
“Write to the deanold friend of mine. Hell sort you.”
“Thank you!” she beamed.
After dinner, Henry stood. “Best be off.”
“Wait. Wheres *off*? You cant sleep outside!”
“Dont fret. Ive a spot in next doors shed.”
“Stay. Theres three bedrooms. And Im scared of the stove.”
Henry smiled. “Alright. Ill stay.”
***
Two years later, Emily aced her finals and raced home for summer break. She still kept the cottagestaying there weekends and holidays.
“Grandad Henry!” She flung her arms around him.
“Emmy! Why didnt you call? Id have met you at the station!”
“Nearly straight As! Brought cakeput the kettle on!”
Over tea, Henry chatted about his latest project: “Planting roses. Building a pergola. Make it proper cosy.”
“Brilliant! Its *your* housedo what you like!”
Henry wasnt alone anymore. He had a home. A granddaughter. And Emmy? She had family againsomeone whod stepped in when she needed it most.
