I walked into the bakery with an empty stomach and an even emptier heart. I was only eight years old and couldnt remember the last time Id eaten something warm.
“Miss could I have just a little bit of bread, even if its stale?” I asked, my voice shaky.
The woman looked me up and down and pointed to the door.
“Get out of here, you little beggar! Go earn your keep like the rest of us!” she snapped, wiping the counter.
A lump formed in my throat, and I started backing away when a deep voice cut in.
“Excuse me, madam!” It was an old man buying bread. “Cant you see hes just a child?”
“Well, his parents should take care of him,” she huffed.
I hung my head, wishing I could vanish. But the man knelt and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Dont worry, lad. Come on, Ill treat you.”
That day, he took me to his home, gave me soup, a bed, and most importantlya place where I didnt feel worthless.
“Ive no grandsons,” he said with a smile. “Fancy being mine?”
I bit my lip to stop the tears and nodded.
“Yes, Grandad.”
Years passed, and that old man became my family, my strength, and my reason to study. He made me promise that one day, Id help others just as hed helped me.
Time flew, and one day, now a doctor, I was called urgently to the hospital. A woman was bleeding out in surgery. When I entered and saw her on the table, my blood ran coldit was the baker.
As I operated, I remembered her harsh words that day, but also the warmth of Grandads hand pulling me off the streets. And then I understood.
Hours later, she woke.
“You saved my life?” she asked, her eyes glistening.
I looked at her calmly.
“Yes, maam. And I did it because someone once believed I deserved a second chance.”
She broke down in tears. I just smiled, knowing somewhere up there, Grandad was proud.
