**Diary Entry**
“James, are you out of your mind? Do you think I’m inviting you to live with me for money? I feel sorry for you, that’s all.”
James sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window at the quiet courtyard below. His room overlooked a small, peaceful garden with benches and flowerbeds, but hardly anyone ever walked thereespecially not in the dead of winter.
He had been alone for a week now. His roommate, Oliver Thompson, had been discharged, and ever since, the ward felt emptier than ever. Oliver had been lively, full of jokes, and knew a million stories, which he acted out like a proper theatre studentbecause he was one, in his third year. With Oliver around, boredom was impossible. Plus, his mother visited daily, bringing homemade cakes, fruit, and sweets, which he always shared.
Now, without him, the place felt cold. James had never felt so alone.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when Nurse Hargrove marched in. He frownedshe wasnt the young, cheerful Nurse Emily but the stern, perpetually scowling Nurse Margaret. In two months, hed never once seen her smile. Her voice matched her expressionsharp, rough, unpleasant.
“Enough lounging about. Get back to bed!” she barked, syringe in hand.
James sighed, obediently manoeuvring his chair toward the bed. Nurse Margaret helped him lie down with practised efficiency, flipping him onto his stomach without ceremony.
“Trousers off,” she ordered. He compliedand felt nothing. Strange as it was, she gave the smoothest injections.
*How old is she?* he wondered, watching her work. *Near retirement, probably. Stuck here for the pension. No wonder shes always in a mood.*
The needle slid into his pale vein with barely a sting.
“Done,” she said briskly. “Has the doctor been in?”
“Not yet.”
“Wait, then. And stop sitting by the windowyoull catch a chill. Skinny as a rake, you are.”
James almost bristled, but he couldnt. Beneath her brusqueness, he sensed something like concern. Not that he was used to that.
James was an orphan. His parents had died when he was foura house fire in their village cottage. The only reminder was the scar on his shoulder and wrist, where the skin had healed badly. His mother had thrown him from a window seconds before the roof collapsed. He never saw them again.
Relatives existed, but none had wanted him. So, he grew up in care. From his mother, hed inherited soft-spoken patience and dreamy green eyes; from his father, height, long strides, and a knack for maths.
Memories of them were faintfragments, really. Sitting on his dads shoulders in the summer breeze, waving a little flag at a village fair. A ginger tomcat named Whiskers or maybe Tigger. There were no photos left. Everything burned.
No one visited him in hospital. At eighteen, the council gave him a small flat on the fourth floor of a walk-up. He liked the solitudemost days. Other times, the loneliness ached.
After school, hed hoped for university but missed the grades. College suited him fine, though. His classmates? Less so. Quiet and bookish, he never fit in. The lads preferred pints and football; the girls went for louder, bolder boys. At eighteen, he still looked sixteen.
Two months ago, rushing to class, hed slipped on icy pavement in the Tube station. Both legs broken. The fractures were bad, healing slow and painful. Now, finally, he was nearly ready to leavebut his flat had no lift, no ramps. How was he supposed to manage?
That afternoon, Dr. Harrison, the orthopaedic specialist, delivered the news.
“Good progress, James. A few more weeks on crutches, then youll be steady. No reason to keep you hereoutpatient care from now. Discharge papers in an hour. Anyone picking you up?”
James nodded silently.
“Brilliant. Nurse Margaret will help you pack. Stay safe, ladtry not to end up here again.”
Once alone, panic set in. *How am I supposed to manage?*
Nurse Margaret bustled in. “Well? Youre discharged. Pack up.” She handed him his rucksack from under the bed.
As he stuffed his things inside, her sharp eyes fixed on him.
“Whyd you lie to the doctor?”
“About what?”
“Dont play daft. No ones coming for you. How will you get home?”
“Ill manage.”
“You wont. You cant walk properly for weeks yet. How will you cope?”
Her tone softened unexpectedly. She sat beside him.
“James, this isnt my business, but youll need help. You cant do this alone.”
“Ill figure it out.”
“You wont. Ive been in medicine thirty years. Why are you being so stubborn?”
“Even if youre right, why do you care?”
She hesitated. Then, blunt as ever: “Stay with me. Ive a spare room. Countryside, but only two steps to the door. Once youre back on your feet, you can leave.”
James stared. *Live with her?* They were strangers.
“Why so quiet?”
“Its awkward.”
“More awkward than being stuck in a wheelchair alone? Stop sulking. Yes or no?”
He wavered. Awkward, yesbut she wasnt wrong. And now that he thought about it, she *had* looked after him. *”Eat your greens.” “Close that windowyoull catch cold.”* Small things, but kindness all the same.
“Alright,” he muttered. “But Ive no money. Student loan wont come till”
She scoffed. “James, do you *honestly* think Id charge you? Im not running a B&B. I *pity* you, thats all.”
He flushed. “I didnt mean”
“Save it. Wait in the nurses station. My shift ends soon.”
Her cottage was small, snug. Two rooms, warm from the fireplace. The first few days, James kept to himself, not wanting to impose.
“Stop being so shy,” she snapped eventually. “Ask for what you need. Youre not a guest.”
He grew to love it theresnow outside, the crackle of the fire, the smell of her cooking. It felt like home.
Weeks passed. The wheelchair went, then the crutches. Time to return to London.
After a check-up, they walked slowly back.
“Got exams to catch up on,” he said. “So much lost time.”
“Take a deferral,” she said. “Your health comes first.”
Theyd grown close. Too close. He didnt want to leave.
The next morning, as he packed, he turnedand found her crying in the doorway.
Without thinking, he hugged her tight.
“Stay, James,” she whispered. “Whatll I do without you?”
So he stayed.
Years later, she sat proudly as his mother-of-the-groom at his wedding. A year after that, she held his newborn daughternamed Margaretin her arms.
**Lesson Learned:**
Sometimes, kindness wears a rough exterior. And family isnt always the one youre born intoits the one that chooses you.
