Mate, how long have you been living in my house? And what do you eat?

Im 60 years old and already retired. Ive been living on my own for ten years nowno husband, no children nearby, no close friends. My children have their own businesses and families in other towns, my husband passed away, and all thats left is my cottagethe source of my happiness and entertainment. As soon as theres some warmth in the air, I move out there, tidy the house and garden, and start planting. Its where I feel most at home, comfortable and free.

But when winter comes, I simply cant manage out there; the snow is just too much, and I havent the strength to shovel it away. With nobody around to help, Im forced to move back into town. Autumn is manageable enough. This year, in September, I caught a mild cold, so I spent a week in town, but as soon as I started feeling better, I dashed straight back to my beloved village.

Upon arrival, I noticed my gate hanging wide open. Odd, I thought, perhaps someone had wandered into the garden. But noa quick look around and everything seemed in its place, except the door lock was broken. A wave of dread washed over me, worried the house had been burgled and wondering why anyone would target a pensioner. I stepped inside quietly. Everything inside seemed untouched except for the blanket on the bed, which I hadnt used, and a mug left on the table. I always tidy the dishes, so that was peculiar. Something was amiss.

Once the initial fear wore off, irritation took over. Who, I wondered, had the nerve to settle themselves here and drink from my cup? I glanced out the window and spotted a strange boy in front of the house. Hed lit a small fire and was holding his hands close to the flames to warm himself. My unexpected guest, evidently.

I emerged from the house and cleared my throat, waiting to see what hed do. The lad jolted upright, visibly startled, but rather than running away, he came straight towards me.

Sorry, I havent been here long he murmured, timid and apologetic, small for his age. Instantly, my heart softened towards him.

How long have you been here? What on earth have you been eating? I asked.

Just two days Havent had much. Just a bit of bread he replied, holding up a fishing rod with a crust of white bread attached.

How did you end up here?

Mum and my stepdad threw me out. I didnt want to live with them anymore, so I left he admitted.

I bet everyone in the village is searching for you.

Theyre not, its always like this. Its not the first time Ive run off. Ive been gone for weeks before, and nobody has caredthey didnt even notice. I only went back when I was starving, and they werent pleased to see me

Turned out the boy wasnt from my village at all. His situation was sadly all too common: an unemployed mother and a constantly changing string of stepfathers.

After hearing his story, my heart was heavy with sorrow and I knew I had to do something to help him. Naturally, I let him stay in my cottage, made him a decent meal, and spent the whole night considering what to do. The next morning, I remembered an old friend of mine, who works for the local council, and gave her a call. If she couldnt help herself, I figured shed at least guide me in the right direction.

My friend assured me shed take care of everything. Of course, I had to sort out a number of forms and gather the right documents, but within a few weeks, I became his official guardian. The lad could hardly believe his luck, and his mother didnt bat an eyelid about her son.

Now we live together like grandmother and grandson, spending winters in my flat in town and the rest of the year at the cottage. Soon, the boy will start school, and Im certain hell thrivehe can already write, read, count, and even draw! The way he draws is incrediblehes a real artist.