I Promise to Love Your Son as My Own. Rest in Peace…

I promise to love your son as if he were my own. Rest in peace

Harry was a man who seemed to have it all. A flat in a fashionable London borough, a wellpaid job at a consultancy, a sleek new Audi, dinner at a trendy bistro, designer clothes everything was neatly packaged. The only thing missing was love. He had divorced his wife, Claire, just over a year ago after seven years together. One evening she had told him she wanted a life free of children and domestic commitments. She was too refined for a conventional family, and he felt too ordinary for her. Harry had always prided himself on honesty and integrity, and his parents, who lived far away in Bath, were proud of him, even if they saw each other only on rare visits.

Leaving the office a little early, Harry drove home to shower before heading out for a meal. He had no urge to cook. A mischievous thought crossed his mind: what if he broke his own rules, stopped at a food stall, bought a kebab and a soda, and spent an unconventional evening? As he turned into the market area, he spotted a small boy, about five or six, sitting on a concrete step, tears streaking his cheeks. Harrys heart clenched. He got out of the car and knelt beside the child.

Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are your parents? he asked gently.

My names Tommy Larkin, the boy replied, voice trembling. Im starving, but I have no money. My mums been taken to the hospital and Im alone. Im scared.

Wheres your dad, Tommy? Harry asked.

I dont know. Mum said he left when I was born, the boy answered.

How long have you been out on the street?

For two days. I have a set of keys, but I cant get into my flat. Im sleeping in the hallway. Its freezing, and Im hungry.

Alright, lets get you something to eat and then well go to your place. Show me where you live.

Tommy nodded. Harry bought a few kebabs and a bottle of fizzy drink, took the boys hand, and drove to the address Tommy gave. The front door had a high lock that the small boy couldnt manage. Inside, Tommy bolted straight for the kitchen, grabbed a loaf of bread, and began chewing. Harry set the food bags on the table.

First, you should wash up and change into clean clothes. Ill sort us something to eat, he said.

Tommy scurried to the bathroom, then emerged in fresh clothes. When Harry asked if he needed any help, Tommy, trying to act grownup, said he could manage on his own.

They ate together at the tiny kitchen table. Harry watched as Tommy devoured the food, barely chewing, and soon the boys eyelids drooped. Harry lifted him, carried him to the bedroom, tucked him into the single bed, and pulled a blanket over him. The flat was small a singleroom flat but cozy, with family photos on the dresser: a picture of a young woman with Tommy, her pretty face bright and hopeful.

As Harry lingered, he wondered what he was doing there, why he was getting involved. Looking at the sleeping child, he realized the boy could not simply disappear. He stroked Tommys hair, slipped the house keys back into his pocket, and slipped out quietly. He parked his Audi in the empty space outside, walked up the stairs, and reentered the flat. Tommy slept soundly. Harry returned to the kitchen, cleared the table, and put the groceries away. In the hallway he noticed a little notebook on the wall.

He brewed a cup of tea, opened the notebook, and found Tommys mothers details name, date of birth, phone number. He dialed the number, but it was unreachable. Undeterred, he called the local hospital and the council, trying to locate a woman named Irene Larkin. The reply was an oncology unit. A cold dread settled in his chest.

Harry entered Tommys room, adjusted the blanket, and lay down on the sofa, drifting off. When he awoke, sunlight streamed through the window. Tommy was gone. A small voice called from the doorway.

Uncle, are you awake? Ive made us tea and toast.

Harry washed up, went to the kitchen, and found a pair of unevenly sliced toast on a plate. They looked, to him, like the most delicious breakfast.

Tommy, I found out where theyve taken your mum, Harry said. I think we should go see her, so she isnt left worrying alone. Call me Harry, okay? Deal?

Tommy nodded. They packed a bag and headed to the hospital. After a quick inquiry, they learned the ward and, slipping on disposable overshoes, made their way inside. The door opened to reveal a gaunt woman with dark circles under her eyes. When she saw her son, her eyes widened and tears fell like rain.

My darling, Ive been so worried about you. Youre alone on the streets, and now I see this man with you. Who is he?

This is Harry. Hes my friend, a good man. He bought us food yesterday and stayed with me, Tommy explained.

Irene looked at Harry.

Who are you? Thank you for caring for my son. I have no one else to ask for help. I didnt know where to turn.

Dont worry, Irene, Harry said gently. We met by chance and became friends. I wont abandon Tommy; hell stay with me. Focus on your treatment, and when youre well, youll have him back.

Irenes voice trembled. I dont think Ill leave this place. It feels like the end. If youre willing, could you take Tommy to the childrens home where I grew up? Ive spoken to the director, and theyll look after him. Its the only person I trust now.

Harry promised to speak with the doctors. The physician, however, delivered grim news.

Its advanced, the doctor said. At best she has a month, perhaps less. Pain management is all we can offer.

Harry asked, Could we move her to a private room, give her extra care?

The doctor agreed. Harry and Tommy bought fresh fruit, juice, and a hot meal, and placed them beside Irenes bed. Though the pain was severe, she managed a few bites, smiling at Harry with gratitude, silently pleading that he not abandon her son.

Over the next three weeks, Harry visited daily, bringing bouquets of daffodils, sharing jokes, and lightening Irenes mood. She began to regain a faint colour in her cheeks. Hope flickered in Harrys heart. Yet the doctor remained solemn.

Shes fading, he whispered one afternoon.

That night Harry lay awake, restless, sipping tea in the kitchen. He heard his own sighs echoing through the flat. The next morning Tommy, now a little taller, stood before the mirror, adjusting his tie.

Dad, where are you off to looking so sharp? Irene asked, surprised.

Im getting married, Tommy announced. Ive thought it through. If I become Mr. Larkin, I can give Mom everything she needs. Ill sort the paperwork with a solicitor and then head to you. Make sure you have a celebratory dinner ready.

Irene stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a whirl of fear and relief. Time was slipping away, and the only person she could rely on now was Harry.

The flat door swung open, and Harry entered, a massive bouquet of red roses in his hands, along with a small box. He knelt by Irenes bedside.

Irene, Ive changed my mind, he said, voice steady. I dont want to send Tommy to a home. I want him to stay with me. If youll allow it, Ill marry you, so I can adopt him legally. The registry office is waiting in the corridor. Will you be my wife?

Irenes eyes widened, tears spilling over. She saw in Harry an angelic kindness she never expected. Yes, she whispered, Ill be yours.

The ceremony took less than half an hour. Harry placed a simple gold band on Irenes finger, kissed her cheek, and thanked the doctor for releasing her home. He asked the nurse, Can I take her home? Shes on painkillers, but I can handle the injections, and Ill look after her.

The nurse gave instructions, and they bundled Irene onto a wheelchair. Harry lifted her gently, feeling how fragile she had become, wishing he could breathe life back into her.

That evening, their flat held a modest celebration. Tommy bounced around, delighted. Their mother, a warmhearted neighbour called Margaret, and Harrys own mother, Eleanor, joined them, laughing and sharing stories.

For five more days the rhythm continued: Harry administering medication, Irene sleeping, waking, and Tommy caring for his mother with a maturity beyond his years. Then, one morning, Irenes heart could no longer bear the pain. Harry felt a piece of his own soul break as she slipped away.

At the cemetery, a small crowd gathered: Harry, Tommy, Eleanor, and a few of Harrys friends. Harry held Tommys hand tightly, afraid to let go. Tommy looked up at him.

Harry, Mum said you were my dad, that youd found me. Is that true? Will you always be here and never leave like Mum did?

Harry crouched, pulling Tommy close.

Yes, lad. Im here now, and Ill always be with you. And your mum she never really left. She watches from the sky and lives in your heart. Shell always be with us.

Tommy embraced Harry, then turned to a photograph of Irene on the mantel.

Mum, dont worry. Dads here, and well all stay together. Ill look after you, Granddad, and Grandma. Come visit me often, and Ill tell you how were doing. I love you so much, Mum, and I love Dad too.

He brushed his small hand over the picture, tears streaming down Harrys cheeks. In that moment, Harrys life transformed. He finally understood his purpose: to love and protect the boy who had come into his world, honoring the promise hed made to a woman he barely knew.

The lesson is simple: true wealth isnt measured by possessions or status, but by the love we give and receive, and by the promises we keep, even when the road is hard.