Homeless and Hopeless: A Desperate Search for Shelter.
Emily had nowhere to go. Absolutely nowhere. “I could spend a few nights at the train station. But then what?” Then, a saving thought struck her: “The cottage! How could I forget? Though calling it a cottage is a stretch. Its more of a crumbling shack. Still, better than sleeping at the station,” she reasoned.
Boarding the commuter train, Emily leaned against the cold window and shut her eyes. A wave of painful memories from recent months washed over her. Two years ago, shed lost her parents, leaving her utterly alone. Unable to afford uni, shed dropped out and taken a job at a supermarket.
After all that, luck had seemed to smile on hershed met James, a kind and decent man. Within months, theyd had a simple wedding.
Life had finally felt steady until it wasnt. James convinced her to sell her parents flat in the city centre to fund a business venture. He painted such a rosy picture that Emily never doubted him. “Once were stable, we can think about a baby. I cant wait to be a mum,” the naïve young woman had dreamed.
But the business failed. Endless arguments over wasted money tore them apart. Soon, James brought another woman home and showed Emily the door.
At first, she thought of going to the policebut what could she accuse him of? Shed signed the flat over willingly.
***
Stepping onto the deserted platform, Emily walked alone. Early spring meant the countryside was still quiet. Three years of neglect had left the cottage overgrown and derelict. “Doesnt matter. Ill fix it up. Itll be like before,” she told herself, knowing nothing would ever be the same.
She found the key easily under the porch, but the warped wooden door refused to budge. She strained against it, but it was no use. Defeated, she sank onto the steps and wept.
Thensmoke. A clatter from the neighbouring garden. Relief flickeredsomeone was nearby. She hurried over.
“Mrs. Thompson? Are you home?” she called.
Instead, an unkempt older man stood by a small fire, heating water in a dented tin mug. Emily froze, startled.
“Who are you? Wheres Mrs. Thompson?” she demanded, stepping back.
“Dont be afraid. And please, dont call the police. Im not doing anything wrong. Im not breaking inI live out here.”
His voice surprised hereducated, refined. A voice that belonged in a lecture hall, not a garden.
“Youre homeless?” she blurted.
“Yes,” he admitted, eyes downcast. “Do you live next door? Dont worry, I wont trouble you.”
“Whats your name?”
“Thomas.”
“Surname?”
“Does it matter?” He sighed. “Harrison.”
She studied him. His clothes, though worn, were clean. He didnt look like he belonged on the streets.
“I dont know who else to ask,” she admitted quietly.
“Whats wrong?”
“The doors stuck. I cant open it.”
“If youd like, I could take a look,” he offered.
“Please,” she whispered.
As he worked on the door, Emily sat on the steps, watching. *Who am I to judge him? Im homeless too.*
“Em, take a look!” Thomas grinned, shoving the door open. “Waityoure staying here tonight?”
“Where else?”
“Is there heating?”
“Just the stove” She faltered, realising she had no idea how to use it.
“Right. Firewood?”
“None.”
“Stay inside. Ill be back,” he said firmly, vanishing into the dusk.
An hour of futile cleaning left her dispirited. The cottage was damp, cold, unwelcoming. Then Thomas returned with firewood. Against all odds, she felt a flicker of warmthnot just from the flames.
He cleaned the stove, lit it, and soon the cottage glowed with heat.
“Keep feeding it slowly. Put it out before beditll stay warm till morning,” he instructed.
“And you? Back to the neighbours?”
“If you dont mind. Id rather not go into town Some memories are best left buried.”
“Thomas, wait. Stay for dinner. Tea, at least,” she insisted.
He didnt protest, just shed his coat and sat by the stove.
“Forgive me for prying,” she began, “but youre not like the others. Why are you out here? Wheres your family?”
Thomas had spent his life teaching at Oxford. Devoted to his work, hed never married. Old age crept up unnoticed. By the time he realised he was utterly alone, it was too late.
A year ago, his niece started visiting. Sweetly, shed suggested shed care for him if he left her his flat. Grateful, he agreed.
Shed spun a taleselling his cramped city flat for a countryside cottage with a garden. Hed dreamed of fresh air, peace. Hed signed everything over.
“Uncle, wait at the bank while I sort the paperwork. Let me carry the moneywhat if were followed?” shed said.
She never came back.
Hed waited hours. Days. Went to her old addressa stranger answered. Shed sold it years ago.
“Pathetic, isnt it?” he murmured. “A lifetimes work, gone. All I have left are these clothes.”
Emily shared her own story.
“Dont lose heart,” he said gently. “Youre young. Things will turn around.”
“Enough sad talk. Lets eat,” she said, forcing a smile.
She watched him scarf down baked beans on toast, struck by pity. How awful, to be so alone.
“Em,” he said suddenly, “I could help you return to uni. Old colleagues might pull strings. Ill write to the deanhes an old friend.”
“Really? Thatd be amazing!”
“Thank you for dinner. I should go,” he said, rising.
“Wait. Its not rightwhere will you sleep?”
“Dont worry. Ive a spot in the next garden.”
“Stay. There are three bedrooms. I Im scared to be alone. And I dont know how to work the stove.”
He met her eyes. “I wont leave you.”
***
Two years later, Emily aced her finals and raced home for summer break. She still lived in the cottagewell, the student halls during term, but weekends and holidays were here.
“Grandad!” she cheered, hugging Thomas.
“Em! You shouldve calledId have picked you up! How were the exams?”
“Brilliant! Nearly all firsts!” She beamed. “I brought cake. Put the kettle onlets celebrate!”
Over tea, Thomas told her about the grapevines hed planted, the pergola he was building.
“Fantastic! Its your homedo whatever you like,” she laughed.
He wasnt alone anymore. He had a home. A granddaughter. And Emily? She had family againsomeone whod stood by her when shed needed it most.
