Fate blessed me with a son… Once, I took a chance on a homeless lad, and now he’s a university student!

My life changed on a chilly autumn evening long ago.

I was trudging home after a weary day’s work. The wind cut through to the bone, and the city seemed deserted—just a handful of souls hurrying along, collars turned up against the cold.

As I turned onto my street, a gaunt figure stepped from the shadows.

Before me stood a boy—thin, shivering in a threadbare shirt, clutching a knife in trembling hands. I couldn’t tell whether it was the autumn chill or fear that made him shake.

“Hand over your wallet,” he croaked.

Calmly, I took out my billfold and passed it to him. Then, after a moment’s thought, I shrugged off my coat and offered that too.

He flinched, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Why’d you do that?”

I smiled.

“Because if you’re in this state, you’ve got no other choice.”

The lad broke down sobbing. Now, in the dim glow of the streetlamp, I saw his face properly—just a child. No more than fifteen, though nearly as tall as me.

I asked him to come home with me for a hot cup of tea.

He hesitated, unsure whether to trust me. But in the end, he nodded.

I lived alone… but that night, everything changed.
The house was warm. I brewed tea and sat him at the table.

He glanced around with open curiosity. When his gaze landed on my bookshelf, he froze.

“You’ve got loads of books,” he muttered.

“Aye.”

“You read ’em all?”

“Course.”

“Never read a proper book in my life,” he admitted, not a trace of shame in his voice—only sorrow.

Bit by bit, he opened up. Told me he’d been born into poverty. His mother died when he was small. They meant to send him to an orphanage, but he ran.

Since then, he’d lived on the streets. Learned to survive. Learned to steal.

His father?

At that, he just hung his head and fell silent.

I looked at him and saw a child. Abandoned. Unwanted. Life had given him no chances—but if no one lent a hand, he’d vanish forever.

“Stay with me. At least tonight, sleep somewhere warm,” I said.

He eyed me warily but agreed.

I took him in as my own.
That night, I scarcely slept. My mind raced—what would become of him? Where would he go tomorrow?

By morning, I knew I wouldn’t let him leave.

“Fancy a fresh start?” I asked over breakfast.

He shrugged.

“Nowt to lose.”

So he stayed.

I sorted his papers, got him back into school. At first, it was hard—he’d missed years—but he pushed on. His teachers doubted him at first, but within months, they saw his promise.

I taught him what I knew. Helped with his studies. Showed him that thieving wasn’t the way—that hard work could take him far.

How he thirsted for learning! He devoured every book he could find, often studying deep into the night.

I was proud.

Now, he’s at university!
Years have passed.

Today, Edmund is a student. He studies and works, pays his own way—won’t let me shoulder the burden.

I know a good life waits for him. He’ll find work, raise a family.

No longer that frozen boy with a knife.

He’s my son.

Aye, the papers don’t say so—but that doesn’t matter. What matters is when he speaks to me, he says:

“Dad…”

And that’s worth more than anything.