Im 60 years old now, long retired, and living my own quiet life. For the past ten years, Ive lived aloneno husband, no children, and not even any close friends nearby. My children have their own lives, their families in different cities, and my husband passed away some years ago. My greatest joy and escape is my garden cottagea small haven that brings me so much pleasure and keeps me busy. As soon as the weather begins to warm up, I move out there, tidy up the cottage and the garden, then plant flowers and tend to the flower beds. I feel at peace there, truly relaxed.
But in the winter, it just isnt possible to stay at the cottage. Theres too much snow and Im not able to clear it myself. No one is around to help, so I have to retreat to my flat in the city. In autumn I can just about manage. This September, I caught a cold and ended up staying in town for a week, but as soon as I felt better and the chill lifted, I rushed straight back to my beloved little village.
When I got to my cottage, the front gate was wide open. I thought someone must have come into the garden. Everything seemed normal, but then I noticed the front door was ajar. My heart poundedwas the place burgled? I slipped inside quietly. Strangely, all was in order, except for a blanket I didnt recall using, and a mug sitting on the table. Im always careful to tidy the dishes! Something was amiss.
Once my fear subsided, it was replaced by annoyance. Who had the nerve to make themselves at home here, drinking from my mug? I peered out the window and, behind the house, there was a strange boy. Hed built a small fire and was warming his hands over it, looking quite lost. There was my uninvited guest…
I stepped outside, cleared my throat, and watched him. The “troublemaker” startled and looked scared, but instead of running, he walked right over to me.
Please, Im sorry, I havent been here long he said very quietly, humble as anything.
He was so small and soft-spoken that I immediately felt sorry for him.
How long have you been here? And what have you eaten?
Just two days. I havent had much I had some bread, but only the last bit left
With a note of pride, the lad pulled out a fishing rod with a chunk of white bread stuck to the hook.
Whats your name, lad? And how did you end up here?
Im Oliver. My mum and stepdad kicked me out. I dont want to live with them
Are the village folk looking for you?
Theyre not looking. No one really notices. Its not the first time Ive run away, and when Im gone for weeks, nobody pays any mind. I only go back when Im so hungry I cant stand it, and theyre never glad to see me…
Turned out, he wasnt from our village at all. Just a sad, familiar story: his mother out of work, stepfathers coming and going, not much to eat in the houseusually just drink and trouble.
My heart ached for him, so I did what I could. I let Oliver stay in the cottage, cooked him a proper meal, and spent the night pondering what to do. In the morning, I remembered an old acquaintance who held a role in the council and decided to give her a ring. I thought, if she cant help, at least shell know who can.
She assured me shed do what she could, promised to keep on top of the situation. Of course, I had to sort out various bits of paperwork, but after a few weeks, I was granted guardianship of Oliver. He couldnt believe his luck, and his mother never once asked about him.
Now, we live together like gran and grandsonspending winters in the city flat and the rest of the year at the cottage. Before long, Oliver will be starting at the local school, and Im sure hell do brilliantly. Hes already reading, writing, and adding up sums, and his drawings are wonderfulsuch talent! Hes a real little artist.
