I found a baby under a birch tree and raised him as my own. But who could have guessed
“What are you doing here?” William Thompson froze, hardly believing his eyes.
Under an old oak tree, nestled on a bed of fallen leaves, was a child. A skinny boy, about four years old, in a jacket far too thin for the weather, shivering as he hugged himself. His wide, frightened eyes locked onto the park ranger.
William glanced around cautiously. No one in sightjust the rustling of pine needles and the occasional creak of a branch. He knelt carefully, trying to seem less intimidating.
“Whats your name, little one? Where are your parents?”
The boy pressed himself against the rough bark of the oak. His lips trembled, but instead of words, a soft whimper escaped.
“B… Ben,” he whispered finally.
“Ben?” William reached out, but the boy flinched. “Dont be scared. I wont hurt you.”
Dusk was settling over the woods, the temperature dropping fast. Who would leave a child out here? The nearest village was miles away, and the journey wasnt easy.
“Come with me,” William said gently. “My cottage is warm, and theres food.”
At the mention of food, a flicker of interest lit up Bens eyes.
William shrugged off his padded coat and draped it over the boys frail shoulders. Ben didnt resist.
“There we go,” William murmured, scooping him up.
Light as a feather. His bones jutted under his skinclearly, he hadnt eaten properly in days.
They walked through the woods, Bens shivering slowly easing. Soon, a small cottage appeareda crooked porch, a thin curl of smoke from the chimney.
“Home sweet home,” William announced, nudging the door open with his foot.
The smell of dried herbs and woodsmoke filled the cottage. The fire was dying, casting reddish glows over the rough wooden table and bench.
William sat Ben down, tossed more logs onto the fire, and the flames roared back to life, lighting up the boys scared face.
“Youll warm up soon,” William said, setting a pot over the fire. “Then well talk.”
Ben ate ravenously, coughing between bites. William watched, something old stirring inside him. How long had it been since hed cared for a child? Ten years? Fifteen? Since
No. Not now.
“Where are you from, Ben?” he asked when the plate was empty.
The boy shook his head.
“Mum… Dad… where are they?”
Another shake, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I… dunno,” he whispered.
William sighed. “Tomorrow, well go to the village, talk to Constable Harris. A lad doesnt just appear out of nowheresomeone must be looking for you.”
“Tonight, you stay here,” he said firmly. “Well sort it out in the morning.”
He tucked Ben under an old but clean blanket on the bench by the fire. The boy curled into a corner, eyes wary.
In the middle of the night, William woke to quiet sobs. Ben sat on the bench, knees hugged tight, crying silently.
“Hey,” William called softly. “Come here.”
He patted the bed beside him. Ben hesitated, torn between fear and trust. “Its alright,” William coaxed. “No harms coming to you.”
Ben clambered down and, after a wobbly step or two, slipped under the blanket beside him.
“Sleep,” William said. “Youre safe now.”
Early the next morning, William got ready to head to the village. He hesitated, watching Ben sleep peacefully. Should he take him? Leave him? What if the boy woke up alone?
In the end, he decided to wake him.
“Off to the village,” William said. “Gotta find whos missing you.”
Bens eyes flew open.
“No!” he cried, voice clear for the first time. “Dont go without me!” He clutched Williams hand.
“Why not?” William crouched to his level. “Your parents must be worried sick.”
Ben shook his head, fear in his eyes.
“No mum,” he whispered. “No dad.”
Williams chest tightenedhe knew that look. The desperation of someone whod lost everything.
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Stay here today. But tomorrow, we go. Understand?”
The boy nodded, still gripping Williams hand.
Three weeks later, William finally made it to the village.
They cooked stew over the firepotatoes, onions, herbs picked from the woods.
The flames flickered over their faces: one weathered, with a greying beard, the other young and freckled. But their eyes were the samesharp, serious, watchful.
“School next week,” William murmured, stirring the stew. “Nervous?”
Ben shrugged.
“A bit. What if the other kids laugh at me?”
“Why?” William frowned.
“Cause Ive never been before. Cause Im different.”
William set the spoon down, pulled Ben close, and said quietly,
“Listenyes, youre different. But youre better.” You faced down a fox in the woods. You can start a fire with one match. You know the smell of rain on dry earth.
And youre starting Year One. None of them knew school till they went, same as you.
Ben looked up.
“Really?”
“Course,” William said, ruffling his sandy hair. “And one more thingIll always be here. Always.”
The first of September dawned bright and crisp. Ben, in a new jumper and backpack, waited by the door. William straightened his collar.
“Ready?”
Ben nodded. Together, they walked down the village lane to the schoola small white building with a flag fluttering outside. Kids streamed in with bouquets of flowers, parents snapping photos.
At the gate, Ben slowed.
“Dad,” he said finally, and William stopped dead, not daring to breathe. “Will you wait here?”
“Course,” William said, voice rough. “Right here. Go on.”
Ben took a deep breath and stepped through the gate, disappearing into the crowd. William stayed rooted, watching the door with a soft smile. The breeze tousled his hair.
His son was starting school, just as he should. The circle was completeloneliness had given way to warmth, to a life full of meaning, love, and hope.
