25April2025
Dear Diary,
I finished work in a surprisingly good mood. My boss, pleased with the project Id wrapped up the day before, let me leave early and hinted at a bonus. I darted up the stairs, fingers already moving to the intercom code, when a plaintive wail stopped me in my tracks. I frownedwhat gloom could possibly mar such a bright afternoon? I looked around, found nothing, and pressed the door handle again, but the crying grew louder.
Little one, where are you? I called, halflaughing despite myself.
A thin voice answered, Here.
I stepped out onto the cobbled pavement and saw a boy about five, shivering in a threadbare coat, ripped trainers and muddy trousers. His cheeks were streaked with dark tears. My heart tightened.
Whats your name? Why are you crying? I asked.
He sniffed, Im Charlie I want to go home.
Do you live here? I tried to work out which neighbour might have a child.
He shook his head. I dont know. Ive lost my way. His clear pronunciation surprised me.
I decided I couldnt leave him out in the cold. I reached out. Come with me. Ill get you a warm drink, okay? He clutched my hand and followed, nose twitching as he walked.
I wasnt sure what to do with him yet, but a motherly instinct surgedfeed, warm, protect. I have some stew. Want some? I asked as we entered my flat. He nodded eagerly.
He ladled the broth with care; it was evident he wasnt used to such meals. I thought of my niece, Lily, who spoils for all the treats I make, and wondered whether Charlie ever tasted anything like this. It seemed likely hed only ever dreamed of a proper meal.
Just then the phone rang. It was Arthur, the lad Ive been seeing.
Hey, what are you up to? he asked.
Feeding a little stray, I replied.
Who?
Charlie. He was by the lift.
Where did he come from?
Found him outside.
Why bring him home?
Hes cold.
How old is he?
Probably five, maybe four.
I could hear Charlies tiny voice on the line, counting his fingers. Four, he whispered. I smiled, correcting myself, Really, just four.
Arthurs tone turned stern. You should hand him over to his family.
I dont know where his family is.
Call the police.
Police? I echoed. I cant just keep him.
He sounded impatient. Fine, take him to the nearest station. Ill meet you later. I sighed, disappointment tinged with relief, and said, Alright, Charlie. Lets find your mum.
We walked to the local police station on Baker Street. The officer on duty, a young man named James, seemed about my age, which gave me a small spark of hope; perhaps younger officers are a bit softer than the hardened veterans.
I explained briefly what had happened. He radioed someone, then told us to wait. A few minutes later a uniformed officer, Sergeant Lucy, arrived and invited us into her office. She asked for details, thanked me for looking after the boy, and then said, Youre free to go.
And Charlie? I asked.
Hell stay with us for now. We need his statement. The boy nodded eagerly. Relief washed over me; at least he was in safe hands.
I left the station feeling a mix of gratitude and a lingering tug at my heart. I met Arthur outside a coffee shop, his expression a blend of irritation and fatigue as I approachedlate as always.
I met a lovely girl at the station, I blurted.
You could have taken him there straight away and wed have had time for the cinema, he snapped, though his tone softened quickly. I didnt take offense. He was so vulnerable. I couldnt just hand him over to strangers in uniform. You know theyre not always empathetic.
He waved it off. Alright, love.
The evening closed, yet I couldnt shake thoughts of Charlie. Would his family ever be found? Might he be better off in a care home? Arthur seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil, and the night, though pleasant, left me with a sour aftertaste.
It was Friday. On Monday, as I was returning home, I spotted Charlie again near my flat.
Youre back, I said, surprised.
I came to you. Do you have stew? he asked.
No stew today, but Ill find something. Pasta?
Sure! He beamed, clearly famished.
While feeding him, he spilled his story. On Friday evening, after the police had taken him, his motherVickycame to file a missingperson report. She then harshly scolded him, gave him a spank, and forbade him from going out. She left that morning, leaving only Uncle Tom, her husband, at home. Charlie was terrified of him and avoided being seen. When Tom snored loudly, Charlie slipped on his coat and made his way to me.
My heart ached. After he ate, he said quietly, I think Ill go home, or Mum will punish me again. He added, She never hurt me before. Maybe Ill have to find a new mum soon.
I replied thoughtfully, Okay, Ill walk you home. I wanted to know where he lived. He agreed, and his house was just a short walk away. As I approached his building, a woman stepped out.
Hello! Didnt see you in the courtyard today. Went for a walk? she asked.
My mum scolded me. I slipped out.
Hungry?
No, Kate fed me.
Then run home before she notices.
Im off. Bye, Kate! he called, disappearing behind the door.
I turned to the woman. Is his mother I began.
She drinks, the woman sighed. Worseshes using drugs. Its only been a year, but shes gone from a pretty young lady to a shadow of herself.
Thats no place for a child! I protested.
I cant call social services; my conscience wont allow it. Vicky was always a good girl. She died before Charlie was born. She and her husband split up, and then she married this brute who ruined her life.
She trailed off, but I understood everything. She was feeding him as best she could, but Vicky forbade it. The presence of Uncle Tom made everything worse.
I asked for her phone number before leaving, promising to keep an eye on the situation. The weight of dread settled on my shoulders as I returned home.
That evening Arthur called. When he heard my weary voice, he asked what was wrong. I confessed that Vicky was again involved with Charlie.
You should have taken the boy to care, he said bluntly.
I dont know what to do.
Stay out of that family. Stop getting attached to the child.
Its not I cant help it.
He was harsh. I fell silent, picturing myself in a courtroom, fighting for custody. Its madness, I muttered to myself, yet the image of Charlie safe in my home lingered.
Well talk tomorrow, I told him.
Are you angry, Kate? he asked.
No, just a headache. Im going to sleep. I lied.
After hanging up, I called my sister Emma. Were close, and I always share my thoughts with her. She listened and said, I think Charlie is wonderful. You love kids, dont you? Id love to meet him.
Hes a sweet lad! I replied.
Do what feels right. He didnt appear by accident. Hows Arthur faring? she asked.
Its complicated.
I think you shouldnt stay with someone who drains you, she advised.
I spent the rest of the night turning the conversation over in my mind. Emma was right: the boy couldnt stay where he was. I resolved to take a day off work and speak again with the neighbour who had been looking after Charlie.
The next morning she called, her voice trembling. Charlies in hospital with a concussion!
Later I learned Vicky never returned home after the police visit. The police were searching for her. Uncle Tom, now drunk and high on drugs, demanded to know where Charlie was. The boy couldnt escape him, but the neighbour heard his cries, called the police, and they rushed him to the hospital. An ambulance took him away.
Now I wont let this happen again, I vowed.
That evening I visited the hospital. The same officer James and Sergeant Lucy were there, along with a young constable named Gareth. They recognized me and explained the situation. When I asked whether anyone could adopt Charlie, James said, Adoption is only possible if the mothers rights are removed, which is a lengthy process.
What other options exist? I pressed.
The childrens services can advise, Gareth replied gently, his eyes softening.
Gareth seemed genuinely moved by Charlies plight. After the shift, he offered to walk me home.
I could treat you to a cup of tea, I blurted, surprising even myself. He accepted.
Over tea he listened patiently to my plans for Charlie, offering his full support. Hes a bright lad. Id take him in myself if I could, he confessed, then took my number, promising to keep me updated on any news about Vicky.
The next morning, a call came: Kate, weve found Vicky. She died last night from an overdose.
How do I tell Charlie? I stammered.
Dont rush it. He hasnt asked about her yet. He seems to sense something.
Throughout all this, Arthur never called again. Finally, a text appeared on my phone: I hope you see I was right. Choose: me or your messy streetkid!
I burned with anger, ready to fire off a furious reply, when Gareth called again: Would you like to visit Charlie together today?
Yes, please, I answered, but lets speak on a firstname basis; it feels more natural. I never replied to Arthur that night.
The small crisis with Charlie brought Gareth and me closer. Arthur, meanwhile, waited, assuming I was ignoring him. A week later he phoned; I answered calmly, These matters need a facetoface conversation. We should break up. I realise I dont love you.
His silence was deafening. I turned and walked away. He tried to call again, but I hung up. Our twoyear romance ended there.
A month later, with Gareths help, I secured legal guardianship of Charlie.
Congratulations, he said.
Thanks, I couldnt have done it without you.
He beamed, Youre amazingmost wouldnt take on a drugaddicted mothers child.
I just fell in love with him the moment I saw him, I admitted, blushing.
He replied, I love you too, and his cheeks turned a rosy pink.
Six months on, encouraged by Charlie, Gareth proposed.
Hurrah! shouted his brother, We have new mum and dad! Lets have a proper celebration!
A year later, Charlies wish came true. Everything ended well, and I finally feel peace.
Kate.
