She thought he was just a poor, crippled beggar! She fed him every day with what little food she had… But one morning, everything changed!
This is the story of a poor girl named Emily and a crippled beggar everyone laughed at. Emily was just 24 years old. She sold food from a little wooden stall by the roadside in Manchester. Her stand was made of old planks and sheets of tin, tucked under a big tree where people often stopped to eat.
Emily didn’t have much. Her trainers were worn, her dress had patches, but she always smiled. Even when she was exhausted, she greeted everyone warmly. “Good afternoon, sir. You’re welcome,” she’d say to each customer.
She woke up early every morning to cook rice, beans, and porridge. Her hands moved fast, but her heart weighed heavy with sadness. Emily had no family. Her parents had died when she was young. She lived in a tiny room near her stall—no electricity, no running water. Just her and her dreams.
One afternoon, as Emily wiped down her counter, her friend Auntie Maggie walked by. “Emily,” Auntie Maggie said, “why d’you always smile when you’re strugglin’ just like the rest of us?” Emily just grinned and said, “Because cryin’ won’t put food on my plate.”
Auntie Maggie laughed and walked off, but her words stuck in Emily’s heart. It was true. She had nothing. Yet she still fed people, even when they couldn’t pay.
She had no idea her life was about to change.
Every afternoon, something strange happened at Emily’s stall. A crippled beggar appeared at the corner of the road. He came slowly, pushing his old wheelchair with his hands, the wheels creaking against the stones.
*Creak, creak, creak.* People passing by either laughed or held their noses. “Look at this dirty man again,” one lad sneered.
The man’s legs were wrapped in bandages. His trousers were torn at the knees. His face was dusty, his eyes tired. Some said he smelled. Others said he was mad.
But Emily didn’t look away. She called him Grandad Joe.
That afternoon, under the scorching sun, Grandad Joe pushed his wheelchair and stopped by her stall. Emily looked at him and said softly, “You’re back, Grandad Joe. You didn’t eat yesterday.”
Grandad Joe lowered his head. His voice was weak. “Couldn’t make it,” he mumbled. “Haven’t eaten in two days.”
Emily glanced at her table. Only one plate of beans and porridge was left—the meal she’d saved for herself. She paused. Then, without a word, she took the plate and placed it in front of him.
“Here. Eat,” she said.
Grandad Joe looked at the food, then at her. “You’re givin’ me your last meal… again?”
Emily nodded. “I’ll cook more when I get home.”
His hands shook as he took the spoon. His eyes glistened, but he didn’t cry. He just bowed his head and ate slowly.
People stared.
“Emily, why d’you always feed that beggar?” a woman asked.
Emily smiled. “If I were sittin’ in that wheelchair, wouldn’t I want someone to help me too?”
Grandad Joe came every day, but he never begged with his mouth. He didn’t call out. Didn’t hold out his hand. Didn’t ask for food or money. He just sat quietly by Emily’s wooden stall, head down, hands resting on his lap. His wheelchair looked like it might fall apart any minute—one wheel even tilted sideways.
While others ignored him, Emily always brought him a plate of hot food. Sometimes rice, sometimes beans and porridge—always with a big smile.
One sweltering afternoon, Emily had just served jollof rice to two schoolkids when she looked up and saw Grandad Joe again, sitting silently in his usual spot. His legs were still wrapped in old bandages. His shirt had more holes now. But he just sat there, saying nothing.
Emily spooned hot jollof rice onto a plate, added two pieces of meat, and walked over. “Grandad Joe,” she said gently. “Your food’s ready.”
Grandad Joe lifted his head slowly. His eyes were weary, but when he saw Emily, they softened. “You always remember me,” he said.
Emily knelt and carefully set the plate on the stool beside him. “Even if the whole world forgets you,” she said, “I won’t.”
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up right in front of her stall. The door opened, and a man stepped out. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, shoes polished to a shine. Tall, strong, with piercing eyes.
Emily wiped her hands on her apron. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon,” the man replied—but his eyes weren’t on her. They were fixed on Grandad Joe.
The man didn’t blink. Just stared for a long moment. Grandad Joe was still eating, but Emily noticed something odd—he’d stopped chewing.
The man took a step closer, tilting his head as if trying to remember something. Then he turned to Emily.
“Please, give me a plate of jollof rice. With meat.”
Emily quickly served him. But as he ate, he kept glancing at Grandad Joe. This time, his gaze was uneasy. Without another word, he got back in his car and drove off.
The next morning, Emily woke early. She swept in front of her stall, wiped down her wooden table. At dawn, she kept glancing at the road.
“Any minute now,” she whispered. “Grandad Joe’ll be here.”
But the hours passed. No wheelchair. No Grandad Joe.
By noon, her heart pounded. She walked to the roadside, peering down the street. “Where is he?”
She asked Auntie Maggie, the local veg seller. “Auntie, have you seen Grandad Joe today?”
Auntie Maggie waved her off. “That old man? Probably dragged himself to another street.”
Emily didn’t laugh. She asked the lads selling bottled water. “Seen the old man in the wheelchair?” They shook their heads.
Even the cyclist parked nearby. “Sir, did you see Grandad Joe this morning?”
The man spat on the ground. “Maybe he got tired of sittin’ in one spot. Or maybe he’s gone.”
Emily’s chest felt heavy. She sat by her rice pot, staring at the empty space where Grandad Joe always sat.
Two more days passed. Still no sign of him. Emily couldn’t smile like before. She served customers, but her face was sad. She barely ate. Even the smell of her jollof rice made her feel sick.
“Did somethin’ bad happen to him?” she whispered.
At night, she sat alone in her tiny room behind the stall, holding the last plate she’d given him.
“Grandad Joe never misses a day,” she murmured. “Not even in the rain. Not even when he’s ill. Why now?”
She opened her small window, staring into the dark street. A cold breeze blew in. Her eyes filled with tears.
She wasn’t just worried. She was afraid. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
And deep down, she knew—Grandad Joe hadn’t just disappeared. Something had happened. Something serious. Maybe dangerous.
On the fourth day, Emily was quietly cutting onions at her stall when a black car pulled up again. A tall man in a bright red cap stepped out. His shoes gleamed, his clothes looked expensive.
Emily had never seen him before. He didn’t smile. Didn’t greet her.
He just walked to her table and handed her a brown envelope.
Emily frowned. “What… what’s this?”
The man didn’t answer. “Read it. Tell no one.” Then he turned and left.
Before Emily could say another word, the car sped off.
Hands shaking, she opened the envelope. Inside was a white sheet with a few words:
*”Come to The Greenhill Hotel at 4 p.m. Tell no one. From a friend.”*
Emily froze. Her lips parted, but no words came.
*The Greenhill Hotel?* She’d never been to a hotel. Her heart raced. Who sent this? What kind of friend?
She glanced at the street. The car was gone. She clutched the envelope to her chest.
The sky was grey, but one thing was certain—she had to go.
At exactly 3:30 p.m., Emily stood outside her stall, locking up. She took a deep breath. “God, please go with me,” she whispered.
She flagged down a cab. “The Greenhill Hotel.”
As they drove through the busy streets, Emily held the envelope tight. Her pulse pounded. She didn’t know who sent the note. Didn’t know what would happen.
But something told her this wasn’t just any day.
When they arrived, Emily gaped up at the towering building—sleek glass windows, polished doors, everything looking like a dream. Two security guards stood at the entrance. One in sunglasses stepped forward.
The guard nodded after reading the note, and moments later Emily found herself face-to-face with Grandad Joe—who wasn’t a beggar at all, but a wealthy man named Sir George, and he had a life-changing surprise waiting just for her.
