Chris, have you lost your mind? Do you really think I’d invite you to live with me just for money? I feel sorry for you, that’s all.

“Kieran, have you lost the plot?” Margaret huffed, hands on her hips. “You think Im inviting you to live with me for money? I just feel sorry for you, thats all.”

Kieran sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window at the empty courtyard below. His room overlooked a quaint little garden with a few shops and flowerbeds, but in the dead of winter, hardly anyone ventured outside.

For the past week, hed been alone in the ward. His former roommate, Oliver “Ollie” Whitmore, had been discharged, taking with him all the laughter and chaos of his endless impersonationsOllie was a third-year drama student with a knack for storytelling.

Without Ollie, the room felt hollow. No more shared biscuits from Ollies mum, no more impromptu performances. Just silence.

Kierans gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Nurse Margaret stomping in. He sighed inwardlytoday, it wasnt the cheerful young Nurse Daisy, but Margaret, who wore a permanent scowl like a second uniform.

In two months, hed never once seen her smile. Her voice matched her expressionsharp, no-nonsense, and about as warm as a British winter.

“Quit lounging about. Bed. Now,” she barked, syringe at the ready.

Kieran sighed, obediently wheeling himself over. Margaret efficiently flipped him onto his stomach.

“Trousers down,” she ordered. He complied.

To his surprise, the injection was painlessMargaret might be gruff, but she was good at her job.

“Done. Has the doctor been in yet?” she asked, packing up.

“Not yet,” Kieran muttered. “Might come later.”

“Well, dont hold your breath. And quit sitting by the windowyoull catch a draft. Skinny thing like you, youll blow away,” she grumbled before marching out.

Kieran almost took offence but stopped. Beneath the brusqueness, there was something almost caring?

Not that hed know.

Kieran was an orphan. His parents died in a house fire when he was four. His mother had thrown him from a window seconds before the roof collapsed, leaving him with a badly healed burn on his shoulderhis only keepsake.

Foster care followed. Relatives existed, but none had wanted him.

From his mother, he inherited soft green eyes and a quiet, dreamy nature. From his father, height, long strides, and a head for numbers.

Memories of them were rarefleeting clips of village fairs, sitting on his fathers shoulders in summer breezes, a ginger cat named Marmalade (or was it Whiskers?). No photos survived the fire.

No one visited him in hospitalno one to miss him. At eighteen, the council gave him a tiny flat on the fourth floor of a walk-up. He didnt mind solitude, but sometimes, the loneliness ached.

After school, hed wanted university but settled for a technical college. His classmates found him dulltoo quiet, too bookish. Girls preferred louder, bolder boys.

Two months ago, rushing to class, hed slipped on icy pavement and shattered both legs. Now, after weeks of recovery, the consultant finally declared him fit for discharge.

“Kieran, good news!” Dr. Patel said cheerfully. “Your fractures are healing nicely. A few more weeks on crutches, but no need to stay here. Someone picking you up?”

Kieran nodded. A lie.

Margaret cornered him later. “You lied to the doctor,” she accused, arms crossed.

“What? No, I”

“Dont play daft. Howre you getting home? You cant even walk yet!”

“Ill manage.”

“You wont.” She sat beside him, voice softening. “Look, its none of my business, but youll need help. You cant do this alone.”

“Ill figure it out.”

Margaret sighed. “Stubborn as a mule. Fine. Then stay with me. Ive got a spare room. Small place, but theres a ramp. Stay till youre back on your feet.”

Kieran hesitated. Live with her? They were strangers.

“Well?” she snapped.

“Its just awkward.”

“Whats awkward is you trying to hobble up four flights of stairs. So?”

Kieran caved.

The first few days, he barely left the room, terrified of imposing. Margaret finally lost patience. “Stop being so polite! Ask for what you needyoure not a guest.”

Slowly, he relaxed. The cottage was cozysnowdrifts outside, a crackling fireplace, the smell of shepherds pie. It felt like home.

Weeks passed. The wheelchair vanished, then the crutches.

One evening, after a check-up, Kieran limped beside Margaret, voicing his worries about catching up at college.

“Take a year off,” she said firmly. “Your legs need rest.”

Theyd grown close. Too close. The thought of leaving twisted his stomach.

The next morning, as he packed, he found Margaret crying in his doorway. Without thinking, he hugged her.

“Stay,” she whispered.

So he did.

Years later, Margaret sat as “mother of the groom” at Kierans wedding. A year after that, she cradled her newborn granddaughternamed Margaretin the delivery room.

Not bad for a woman who “just felt sorry for him.”