I promised myself I would love a child as if he were my own. Rest in peace
James Hart had almost everything a man could wish for. A flat in Manchester, a respectable job at a regional bank, a sleek Audi, evenings out at a bistro, designer clothes. The façade was perfect, yet love was missing. Over a year ago my sevenyear marriage ended. My exwife told me she wanted to live for herself, no children, no domestic fuss. She was too refined for ordinary family life, and I was too simple for her. I have always valued honesty and integrity, and my parents were proud, though they lived far away in Liverpool, so visits were rare.
One afternoon I left the office a bit early, intending to get home, shower, then treat myself to dinner out. Cooking didnt appeal. A mischievous thought crossed my mind: what if I broke my routine, stopped for a kebab, a Coke, and had an unplanned night? As I turned into a small food pavilion, I saw a little boy, about five or six, sitting on the concrete, tears streaking his cheeks. My heart clenched.
I parked, got out, and crouched beside him.
Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are your parents? I asked.
Im Tommy Hart. Im starving, but I have no money. Mums in hospital, and Im alone. Im scared, he sniffed.
Wheres your father, Tommy?
I dont know. Mum said he left when I was born.
How long have you been on the streets?
Two days. I have a set of keys but cant get into my flat. I sleep in the stairwell. Its freezing and Im hungry.
I told him wed get something to eat and then head to his home. He nodded, saying his mother had taught him where he lived.
I bought a few snacks, took his hand, and drove to his address. The door lock was high for his small frame, so he couldnt open it. Inside, Tommy bolted for the kitchen, snatched a loaf of bread, and started chewing. I set the bags on the table.
First, you should wash up and change into clean clothes. Ill sort something proper for us to eat, I suggested.
He ran to his room, fetched his clothes and went to the bathroom. I peeked in, offered help, but he insisted, like a grownup, that he could manage.
We sat at the kitchen table and ate. I watched him gulp the food, barely chewing. Slowly he grew full and began to nod off at the table. I lifted him gently, carried him to his bedroom, tucked him into the modest singleroom flat, and pulled a blanket over him. The flat was tiny but cosy; photographs on the dresser showed a young woman with Tommy, her lovely face clear.
As I lingered, I asked myself why I was here, what purpose this served. Looking at the sleeping child, I realised he couldnt simply walk away. I brushed his head, slipped the keys back into my pocket, and slipped out quietly. I parked my car in the vacant space outside the building, climbed the stairs, and returned to the flat. Tommy slept soundly. I cleared the table, put the groceries in the fridge, and noticed a little address book on the hallway mirror. I brewed a cup of tea, flipped through it, and found entries with his mothers detailsfull name, date of birth, mobile number. I dialed, but the line was dead. I called the hospital and local inquiries, finally learning that Grace Hart, Tommys mother, was in the oncology wing at St. Marys Hospital in Leeds. A cold knot formed in my stomach.
I tucked a blanket tighter around Tommy, then lay down on the sofa and fell asleep.
When I woke, sunlight streamed through the window, but Tommy was gone. A small voice called, Uncle, are you up? Ive made us breakfast and tea.
I washed up and went to the kitchen. On the plates lay crookedly sliced toast, which somehow looked the most delicious thing in the world.
Tommy, I found out where your mum is. I think we should visit her so she doesnt have to worry, I said. Just call me James.
He nodded. We packed our things and set off for Leeds. At the hospital we learned the ward number, slipped on disposable shoe covers, and walked in. Graces face was gaunt, dark circles under her eyes, bruises on her cheeks. When she saw her son, her eyes widened and tears streamed down like rain.
My dear boy, Ive been so worried about you. You were left on the street, and now who is this man?
Mum, this is James. Hes my friend, a very good man. He bought me food yesterday and stayed with me.
Grace looked at me, bewildered. Who are you? Thank you for looking after my son. I have no one else to ask for help. I didnt know where to find him.
I tried to calm her. Grace, please dont panic. We met by chance and became friends. I wont abandon Tommy; hell live with me. Focus on your treatment, and when youre well, well be here.
She sobbed, whispering, I wont leave this place. Its the end for me. Since youre a friend, I ask one favour. In my address book is the home of the childrens home where I grew up, and the headmistresss details. After Im gone, could you take Tommy there? Ive told the headmistress; she knows everything. Its the only family I have left.
I promised to do whatever I could. The doctor, however, gave us bleak news. Shes in advanced stage. At best she has a month, maybe less. Shes on heavy painkillers; we cant do much more.
I pleaded, Is there any way to move her to a private room? Ill pay for it. He sighed, We have a private bay, but she has no close relatives.
Grace tried to smile. I stayed with Tommy, helped with his meals, and later escorted Grace to the new rooma bright, spacious bay with a mini fridge. We brought in juices and fruit, and placed a hot meal on the bedside table. Despite the pain, she ate a little, looking at me with gratitude, praying silently that I wouldnt abandon her son.
Over the next three weeks I visited daily, bringing flowers, sharing jokes, keeping her spirits up. Her cheeks regained a faint colour, and hope flickered in me. I went to the oncologist for an update, but he could only say, Shes deteriorating.
That night I lay awake, restless, drinking tea in the kitchen, listening to the house settle. The next morning, Grace, looking brighter than before, asked Tommy, Whats the occasion, you look so dapper?
Im getting married, Mum, he declared. Ive thought a lot and decided Ill become your husbands son. Ill see a solicitor, then come to you. Prepare a feast.
Grace stared at the ceiling, her thoughts only on her sons future. She knew time was short and that James was the only stable adult left in Tommys life. The door opened, and James stood there, a massive bouquet of roses and a small box in his hand. He knelt at the bedside.
Grace, Ive changed my mind. I dont want to send Tommy to a childrens home. I want him to stay with me. If youll agree, marry me. Ive arranged everything; a registrar is waiting in the corridor. Its the only way. Ill become your husband and can adopt Tommy. Will you consent?
She looked at him as if at an angel, her heart swelling. Yes, I will.
The ceremony lasted barely half an hour. I slipped a ring onto her finger, kissed her cheek, and rushed to the doctor.
Doctor, can I take her home? Apart from the painkillers, theres nothing else youre doing. I can give injections myself, and Ill look after her, I asked.
He nodded, giving me instructions and a phone number for emergencies. We dressed Grace, placed her in the wheelchair, and headed out. As I lifted her into the car, she seemed almost weightless, her life barely a whisper. I wanted to press my body against hers, to breathe life back into her, but it was impossible.
That evening, back at my flat, we held a modest celebration for the wedding. Tommy bounced around, thrilled. My mother, Ellen, and my grandmother, Margaret, joined us, their smiles warming the room.
Nights were sleepless. I sat beside Grace, administering her medication, watching her drift in and out of consciousness. Mornings were a blur of feeding her, then Tommy, then me. After five days, her heart could no longer bear the pain. It felt as if a piece of my own soul had slipped away.
At the grave, two figures stood: a man and a small boy, with my own parents and friends gathered behind. I held Tommys hand tightly, as if fearing to let go. He looked up at me.
James, Mum told me youre my dad now. Is that true? Will you always be with me and never leave like Mum did?
I crouched, pulling him close. Yes, son. Im here, and Ill always be. Your mum may be gone, but shell watch over you from the heavens, forever in your heart.
He embraced me, then turned to a photograph of Grace, whispering, Mum, dont worry. Dads here, and well stay together. Ill look after you, Gran, and Grandpa. Come visit often, and Ill tell you how were living. I love you so much, Mum, and you, Dad.
His tiny hand brushed the photograph, tears streaming down my cheeks. My life had been turned upside down, but now I finally understood the purpose Id promised my late wife: to raise a child as my own.
