She thought he was just a poor, crippled beggar! She fed him every day with the 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 tiny wooden stall by the roadside in Manchester. Her stall was made of old planks and sheets of metal, tucked under a big tree where people would come to eat.
Emily didn’t have much. Her trainers were worn, her dress had patches, but she always smiled. Even when she was tired, she greeted everyone kindly. “Good afternoon, sir. You’re welcome,” she’d say to every customer.
She woke up early every morning to cook rice, beans, and porridge. Her hands moved fast, but her heart ached with loneliness. Emily had no family. Her parents died when she was young. She lived in a tiny room near her stall, without electricity or clean water. Just her and her dreams.
One afternoon, while Emily was wiping down her counter, her friend Mrs. Thompson passed by. “Emily,” Mrs. Thompson said, “why do you always smile when you’re struggling like the rest of us?” Emily smiled again. “Because crying won’t fill my pot with food.”
Mrs. Thompson laughed and walked away, but her words stuck with Emily. It was true—she had nothing. But she still fed people, even when they couldn’t pay. She didn’t know her life was about to change.
Every evening, something strange happened at Emily’s stall. A crippled beggar would appear at the corner of the street. He always came slowly, pushing his old wheelchair with his hands, the wheels creaking against the pavement.
*Creak, creak, creak.* People passing by would laugh or cover their noses. “Look at that dirty man again,” one boy said.
The man’s legs were wrapped in bandages. His trousers were torn at the knees. His face was dusty, his eyes weary. Some said he smelled. Others said he was mad.
But Emily never looked away. She called him Old Tom.
That evening, under the blazing sun, Old Tom wheeled himself to her stall. Emily looked at him softly. “You’re here again, Old Tom. You didn’t eat yesterday.”
Old Tom lowered his head. His voice was weak. “I was too ill to come. I haven’t eaten in two days.”
Emily glanced at her table. Only one plate of beans and porridge was left—the food she’d saved for herself. She hesitated. Then, without a word, she picked it up and placed it in front of him.
“Here. Eat,” she said.
Old Tom looked at the food, then at her. “You’re giving me your last plate again?”
Emily nodded. “I can cook more when I get home.”
His hands shook as he took the spoon. His eyes were wet. But he didn’t cry. He just bowed his head and ate slowly. People stared.
One woman asked, “Emily, why do you always feed that beggar?”
Emily smiled. “If I were the one in that wheelchair, wouldn’t I want someone to help me too?”
Old Tom came every day, but he never begged. He didn’t call out to people. He didn’t hold out his hand. He just sat quietly by Emily’s stall, head down, hands resting on his lap. His wheelchair looked like it might fall apart any second. One wheel even tilted sideways.
While others ignored him, Emily always brought him a hot plate of food. Sometimes rice, sometimes beans and porridge. She gave it with a bright smile.
One hot afternoon, Emily had just served two schoolboys when she looked up and saw Old Tom sitting silently in his usual spot. His legs were still wrapped in old bandages, his shirt now full of holes. But he just sat there, saying nothing.
Emily smiled, scooped a plate of steaming rice, added two pieces of chicken, and walked over to him. “Old Tom,” she said gently, “your food’s ready.”
Old Tom lifted his head slowly. His eyes were tired, but they softened when he saw her. “You always remember me,” he murmured.
Emily knelt, carefully placing the food on the stool beside him. “Even if the whole world forgets you, I won’t.”
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up right in front of her stall. The door opened, and a tall man stepped out. He wore a crisp white shirt, dark trousers, and polished shoes that gleamed. He had deep-set eyes and a strong frame.
Emily quickly wiped her hands on her apron. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” the man replied. But his eyes weren’t on her—they were fixed on Old Tom. The man didn’t blink. He just stared for a long moment.
Old Tom 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. “A plate of rice, please. With chicken.”
Emily served him quickly. But as he ate, he kept glancing at Old Tom. This time, his expression seemed unsure. Without a word, he got back into his car and drove away.
The next morning, Emily woke early. She swept outside her stall and wiped down her wooden table as usual. As the sun rose, she kept looking down the street. “Any minute now,” she whispered. “Old Tom will come.”
But hours passed. No wheelchair. No Old Tom.
By noon, her chest felt tight. She walked to the roadside, peering both ways. “Where is he?” She asked Mrs. Thompson, the vegetable seller. “Have you seen Old Tom today?”
Mrs. Thompson chuckled. “That old man? Probably dragged himself off somewhere else. He’s got no legs.”
Emily didn’t laugh. She asked two boys selling bottled water. “Have you seen the old man in the wheelchair?” They shook their heads. She even asked the cyclist parked nearby. “Sir, did you see Old Tom this morning?”
The man spat on the ground. “Maybe he got tired of sittin’ in one spot. Or maybe he’s gone for good.”
Emily’s chest grew heavy. She sat by her rice pot, staring at the empty spot where Old Tom always sat. She barely blinked all day.
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 food made her sick.
“Did something bad happen to him?” she whispered.
At night, she sat alone in her tiny room behind the stall, holding the last plate she’d served him. “Old Tom never misses a day. 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 rushed in. Tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t just worried—she was afraid. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And deep down, she knew—Old Tom hadn’t just disappeared. Something had happened. Something bad. Maybe even dangerous.
On the fourth day, Emily sat quietly in her stall, chopping onions and setting the table as usual. Smoke rose from her fire as she boiled water for rice. Then—a black car stopped right outside.
A tall man stepped out, wearing a bright red cap. His shoes shone, his clothes looked expensive. Emily had never seen him before. He didn’t smile. Didn’t greet her.
Just walked up 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 got back into the car.
Before Emily could speak, the car drove off. She looked left, then right. No one was watching.
With shaky hands, she opened the envelope. Inside was a white paper. She unfolded it slowly. Just a few words:
*”Come to The Green Hill Hotel at 4 PM. Tell no one. From a friend.”*
Emily froze. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her hands trembled. “The Green Hill Hotel?” she whispered. She’d never even been inside a hotel.
She looked at the paper again. Her heart pounded. Who sent this? What friend?
The car was gone. Emily pressed the envelope to her chest, staring up at the sky. It was cloudy, but one thing was clear—she had to go.
At exactly 3:30 PM, Emily locked her stall and took a deep breath. “God, please go with me.” She waved down a taxi. “The Green Hill Hotel,” she told the driver.
As they weaved through Manchester’s busy streets, Emily clutched the brown envelope. Her heart wouldn’t calm down. She didn’t know who sent the letter. Didn’t know what would happen. But something inside her whispered—this wasn’t just any day.
Minutes later, they arrived. Emily stepped out, staring up at the towering building. Shiny glass windows. Gleaming doors. Two security guards stood outside. One in sunglasses stepped forward.
“Good afternoon, miss. Who are you here to see?”
Emily held out the paper. “I got this note. It says to come. My name’She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and—just as the guard nodded her inside—realized that sometimes kindness is rewarded in ways we could never imagine, and her life was about to change forever.
