I walked into the bakery with an empty stomach and a heavy heart. She was only eight years old and couldnt remember the last time shed had a hot meal.
“Miss could I have a piece of bread, even if its stale?” she asked, her voice shaking.
The woman behind the counter looked me up and down and pointed at the door.
“Get out of here, you little beggar! Go earn your keep like everyone else!” she snapped, wiping down the counter.
I felt a lump in my throat and started to back away when a firm voice cut through the tension.
“Oi, love!” It was an old man doing his shopping. “Cant you see shes just a kid?”
“Well, let her parents sort it out then,” the woman huffed, annoyed.
I wanted to disappear, but the old man bent down and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Dont worry, lad. Come on, lets get you something proper.”
That day, he took me home, gave me soup, a bed, and most importantlya place where I didnt feel like rubbish.
“Ive no grandchildren,” he said with a smile. “Fancy being mine?”
I bit my lip to stop the tears and nodded.
“Yeah, Grandad.”
Years passed, and that old man became my family, my strength, my reason to study. He made me promise that one day, Id help others the way hed helped me.
Time flew, and one daynow a doctorI was urgently called into hospital. A woman was bleeding out in the operating theatre. When I walked in and saw her on the table, I froze. It was the baker.
As I operated, I remembered her shouting at me that daybut I also remembered Grandads warm hand pulling me off the streets. And then I understood.
Hours later, she woke up.
“You you saved my life?” she asked, her eyes glassy.
I looked at her calmly.
“Yes, maam. And I did it because someone once believed I deserved a second chance.”
She burst into tears. I just smiled, knowing somewhere up there, my grandad was proud.
