Mate, how long have you lived here? What do you even eat?

Im 60 years old now, and have been retired for quite a while, living life at my own pace. For the past decade, Ive been on my ownno husband, no children close by, not even friends to drop in for a cup of tea. My children have their own lives and families in other towns, my husband has passed away, and my pride and joy is my little cottage in the countrysidea true source of happiness and amusement. As soon as spring arrives and the weather warms, I pack up and move there, tidy up the house and garden, plant flowers, make bedsa most comforting, peaceful place for me.
But come winter, its impossible to stay there; the snow makes it much too hard. I cant manage shovelling it all by myself and theres no one around to lend a hand, so I have to return to my flat in town. I still muddle through autumn alright. This September I caught a bit of a cold and had to keep to the city for a week, but as soon as the chill let up, I dashed straight back to my beloved countryside.
When I arrived, I noticed the garden gate was flung wide open. I thought, surely someone has been on the property. Yet everything seemed to be in its place, or so I thoughtuntil I saw the front door standing ajar. Fear prickled through me; I was certain the house had been burgled! Quiet as a mouse, I stepped inside. But there was nothing amissexcept a blanket out of place, and a mug left out on the table. I always wash up straightaway, so it felt off.
My initial panic faded and gave way to irritation. Who on earth thought they could make themselves at home here, drinking from my mug? I glanced out the window and there, behind the house, sat a peculiar little boy. Hed made a small fire and was warming his hands at it. Well, that was my unexpected guest.
I stepped out and coughed to make my presence known, watching his reaction. The boy jumped and looked frightened, but didnt runif anything, he came closer to me.
Please, maam, forgive me. I havent been here long…
He was quiet and humble, just a child really, and at once my heart went out to him.
How long have you been here? Have you eaten anything?
Only two days not much at all to eat had some bread, just a few crumbs left
He proudly held up a fishing rod with a bit of white bread on it.
Whats your name, lad? And how did you land here?
Im Oliver. My mum and stepdad kicked me out. I dont want to live with them…
I suppose the whole village is looking for you?
No ones looking. Its always like this. Not the first time Ive run off. I can be away for weeks and nobody takes notice, not until Im starving and have to go home, and even then, no ones glad to see me…
It turned out Oliver wasnt actually from the village at all. It was the usual sad story. His mum was unemployed, the stepdads came and went, food was scarce at homemuch more likely to find alcohol than a fresh meal.
Hearing all this, I felt nothing but pity and wondered how to help him. Naturally, I let Oliver stay, gave him a hot meal, and spent the night in thought. In the morning, I remembered an old friend from years ago who worked at the council; perhaps she could help, or at least point me in the right direction.
She assured me she could do something, promised shed oversee everything. There was plenty of paperwork to run around for, of course, but after a few weeks, I officially became Olivers legal guardian. The boy could hardly believe his luck, and his mother never once enquired about him.
Now, we live like gran and grandsonwinters in my flat, and the rest of the year in the cottage. In a short while, Oliver will be starting school, and I have no doubt hell do well. Hes already reading, writing and adding up, and hes quite the little artist! Oh, how he can draw! A natural talent if ever I saw one.
If theres a lesson to all this, its that happiness often comes from unexpected places, and family isnt always the one youre born into. Sometimes, opening your door to someone in need brings more warmth and purpose to your life than youd ever imagined.