Fate gifted me a son… One day, I gave a chance to a homeless boy, and now he’s a university student!
My life took a turn on a chilly autumn evening.
After a long day at work, I was heading home. The wind cut through like a knife, and the city felt deserted, with the occasional passerby hurrying, faces tucked into collars.
As I turned onto my street, a slender figure suddenly emerged from the shadows of a house.
Standing before me was a lad—thin, wearing a light shirt, clutching a knife in his trembling hands. I couldn’t tell if it was the autumn cold or fear causing his shaking.
“Hand over your wallet,” he rasped.
I calmly took out my wallet and handed it to him. After a moment’s thought, I removed my coat and gave it to him as well.
He recoiled, eyes wide with surprise.
“Why are you doing this?”
I smiled at him.
“Because if you’re in this situation, it means you simply had no other choice.”
The boy suddenly broke into tears. Under the streetlamp’s glow, I realized he was just a child. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, though he was nearly as tall as me.
I suggested he come home with me for a warm cup of tea.
He hesitated, unsure if he could trust me. But in the end, he agreed.
I lived alone… but that night everything changed.
The house was warm. I brewed some tea and sat him at the table.
He looked around with unconcealed curiosity. When his gaze fell on my bookshelf, he paused.
“You have a lot of books,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Have you read them all?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never read a book in my life,” he admitted, not with shame but with a hint of sadness.
Gradually, he opened up about his life. He was born into a poor family. His mother died when he was very young, and when they wanted to send him to a care home, he ran away.
Since then, he lived on the streets, learning to survive, learning to steal.
Father?
At that question, he just hung his head and fell silent.
As I looked at him, I realized he was simply a child. Abandoned, unwanted. Life hadn’t given him a single chance, but if no one offered a helping hand, he’d be lost.
“Stay with me. At least spend tonight in the warmth,” I offered.
He looked at me with skepticism but agreed.
I embraced him like a son of my own.
That night, I barely slept, thoughts racing: what would happen to him? Where would he go tomorrow?
By morning, I knew I couldn’t let him leave.
“Do you want to try starting a new life?” I asked over breakfast.
He shrugged.
“I’ve got nothing to lose anyway.”
So he stayed.
I helped restore his documents, got him back into school. Initially, it was tough for him—he hadn’t studied since the equivalent of fourth grade—but he persisted. The teachers were skeptical at first about his potential, but after a few months, they saw his promise.
I taught him what I could. I helped him with his studies, explaining that stealing wasn’t the answer and that with effort, he could achieve a lot in life.
His thirst for knowledge was insatiable! He read anything he could find, sometimes staying up late into the night with his textbooks.
I was proud of him.
Today, he’s a student!
Several years have passed.
Now, Nicholas is a university student. He studies and works, paying for his tuition himself, not wanting to be a burden.
I know he has a bright future ahead. He’ll find a job, start a family.
He’s no longer the cold boy with a knife in his hand.
He’s my son.
Yes, officially, I’m not on his papers, but that doesn’t matter. The most important thing is that when he calls me, he says:
“Dad…”
And that’s the most precious thing I have.
