Fate gifted me a son… Once, I gave a homeless boy a chance, and now he’s a university student!
My life took a turn on a chilly autumn evening.
I was heading home after a long day at work. The wind was biting, and the city seemed deserted—sparse passersby hurried about, faces buried in their collars.
As I turned onto my street, a slender figure emerged from the shadows of a building.
In front of me stood a boy—thin, wearing a light shirt, clutching a trembling knife. I couldn’t tell if he was shaking from the autumn cold or fear.
“Hand over your wallet,” he rasped.
Calmly, I took out my wallet and handed it to him. Then, after a moment’s thought, I took off my coat and offered it to him as well.
He recoiled, eyes wide with surprise.
“Why are you doing this?”
I smiled and said, “Because if you’re in such a position, you probably had no other choice.”
Suddenly, the boy burst into tears. Seeing his face in the streetlight, I realized he was just a kid. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though he was nearly my height.
I invited him to my home for some hot tea.
He hesitated, unsure if he could trust me. But eventually, he agreed.
I lived alone… but that night changed everything.
The house was warm. I made some tea and sat him at the table.
He looked around with undisguised curiosity. When his gaze landed on my bookshelf, he froze.
“You have so many books,” he remarked.
“Yes.”
“Have you read them all?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never read a book in my life,” he admitted, his voice full of sadness rather than shame.
Gradually, he opened up. He told me he was born to a poor family. His mother passed away when he was young. They wanted to send him to an orphanage, but he ran away.
Since then, he’d lived on the streets. Learned to survive. Learned to steal.
As for his father?
At that question, he just bowed his head and fell silent.
Looking at him, I saw a child: abandoned and alone. Life hadn’t given him any opportunities, and I knew if no one helped him, he’d be lost.
“Stay with me. At least spend the night in warmth,” I offered.
The boy looked at me suspiciously but agreed nonetheless.
I welcomed him as if he were my own son.
That night, sleep eluded me. My mind buzzed with questions: What would become of him? Where would he go tomorrow?
By morning, I knew I couldn’t just let him go.
“Do you want to try starting a new life?” I asked over breakfast.
He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”
And so, he stayed.
I helped him get his paperwork sorted, got him back into school. It was challenging at first—he hadn’t been in a classroom since fourth grade—but he gave it his all. The teachers were skeptical at first, but after a few months, they saw potential in him.
I taught him what I knew. Helped with his homework. Explained that stealing wasn’t the answer and that with effort, he could achieve much in life.
He had such a thirst for knowledge! He read everything he could find. Sometimes, he stayed up late into the night with his books.
I was proud of him.
Today, he’s a university student!
Years have passed.
Now, Nicholas is a university student. He’s studying and working, paying for his education himself, not wanting to be a burden to me.
I know he has a bright future ahead. He’ll find a job, start a family.
He’s no longer that frozen boy with a knife.
He is my son.
Yes, legally, I’m not listed in his documents, but that doesn’t matter. The most important thing is that when he speaks to me, he says:
“Dad…”
And that’s the most precious thing I have.
