— I Discovered Two Youngsters in My Garden, Nurtured Them as My Own, But After Fifteen Years, Others Came to Take Them Away from Me.

I found two little children in my garden, raised them as my own, and after fifteen years some strangers came to claim them.

Emily, come quick! Stephen shouted from the garden, and I dropped the halfmixed dough straight into the sourdough starter.

I bolted onto the porchmy husband was standing by the old apple tree. Beside him were two small children: a boy and a girl, sitting in the grass between the carrot rows, dirty, in torn clothes, their eyes wide with fear.

Where did they come from? I whispered, stepping closer.

The girl reached out with trembling hands. The boy clutched at her but showed no panic. They seemed about two years old, perhaps a little older.

I dont know myself, Stephen scratched his head. I was watering the cabbages, and there they were, as if they’d sprouted from the soil.

I crouched down. The girl instantly wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. She smelled of earth and something sour. The boy stayed still, never taking his eyes off me.

What are your names? I asked gently.

There was no answer, only a tighter hug and a soft sniffle from the girl.

We need to tell the parish council, Stephen said. Or the local constable.

Hold on, I said, smoothing the child’s messy hair. First we should feed them. Look how thin they are.

I led the girl inside; the boy followed cautiously, holding the hem of my dress. In the kitchen I set them at the table, poured some milk, and sliced buttered bread. They ate ravenously, as if they hadnt had a meal in days.

Maybe some travellers abandoned them? Stephen suggested, watching them.

No, I shook my head. Travellers children usually have darker skin. These two are fairhaired and blueeyed.

After they ate, the boy smiled at a second slice of bread, and the girl climbed onto my lap and fell asleep, clutching my cardigan.

Later that evening Constable Patel arrived. He examined the children and jotted something in his notebook.

Well spread the word around the parish, he promised. Someone may have lost them. For now, let them stay with you. The district reception centre is full.

We dont mind, I said quickly, hugging the sleeping girl tighter.

Stephen nodded. Wed been married a year and had no children of our own. Now we suddenly had two.

That night we set up a makeshift bed in our bedroom, on the floor beside the stove. The boy lay awake for a long time, watching me. I reached out, and he timidly took my finger.

Dont be frightened, I whispered. Youre not alone any more.

In the morning a gentle touch woke me. The girl was standing beside me, brushing my cheek.

Mum she said uncertainly.

My heart leapt. I lifted her into my arms.

Yes, love. Mum.

Fifteen years slipped by like a breath. We named the girl Poppy; she grew into a slender beauty with golden hair and skyblue eyes. The boy became Harry, strong and steady like his father.

Both helped on the farm, excelled at school, and became everything to us.

Mum, I want to study at the city university, Poppy announced over dinner. Id like to be a paediatrician.

And I want to go to the agricultural college, Harry added. Dad, you said its time to expand the farm.

Stephen smiled and ruffled Harrys shoulder. We never had biological children, but we never regretted itthese two were truly ours.

Back then, Constable Patel could find no one. We formalised guardianship, then adoption. The children always knew the truth; we never hid anything from them. To them, we were their real Mum and Dad.

Remember the first time I tried to bake a pie? Poppy laughed. I dropped all the dough on the floor.

And you, Harry, were terrified of milking the cows, Stephen teased. You thought theyd eat you.

We laughed, swapping memoriesfirst school days, the fight with bullies who called Harry a foster kid, and the meeting with the headmaster that finally put an end to it.

After the children went to bed, Stephen and I sat on the porch.

Theyve turned out well, he said, pulling me close.

My own, I replied.

The next day everything changed. A sleek black car pulled up to the gate. A man and a woman, both in their midforties and impeccably dressed, stepped out.

Good afternoon, the woman said, smiling, though her eyes were cold. Were looking for our children. Fifteen years ago they vanished. A boy and a girl.

It felt like a splash of ice water. Stephen stood beside me.

What brings you here? he asked calmly.

We were told you took them in, the man said, producing a folder of papers. These are our childrens birth records.

I glanced at the dates they matched. Yet my heart still doubted.

You stayed silent for fifteen years, I said quietly. Where were you?

We searched, of course, the woman sighed. The children were with a nanny who had an accident, and they disappeared. Only now have we found a lead.

At that moment Poppy and Harry emerged from the house, frozen by the strangers presence.

Mum, whats happening? Poppy asked, clutching my hand.

The woman gasped, covering her mouth.

Poppy! Its you! And this is Harry!

The children exchanged confused looks.

We are your parents, the man blurted. Weve come home.

Home? Poppys voice trembled. She squeezed my hand tighter. We are already home.

Come on, the woman pressed. Were your blood family. We have a house near Manchester and can help with the farm. Blood is always stronger than strangers.

Anger rose inside me.

You didnt look for them for fifteen years, I hissed. And now, when theyre grown and can work, you appear?

We filed a police report! the man started.

Show me, Stephen said, extending his hand. The man produced a certificate, but Stephen saw the dateonly a month old.

Thats a forgery, he said. Wheres the original?

The man faltered, slipping the papers away.

You didnt look for them, Harry interjected sharply. Constable Patel checked. There were no reports.

Quiet, lad! the man snapped. Youll come with us!

Were not going anywhere, Poppy said firmly, standing beside me. These are our parentsour real parents.

The womans face flushed. She fumbled for her phone.

Im calling the police now. We have documents, and blood is thicker than paper.

Call them, Stephen agreed. But dont forget to invite Constable Patel. Hes kept the records for fifteen years.

An hour later the yard was full of people the constable, a district investigator, even the head of the parish council. Poppy and Harry sat at the kitchen table, while I held them as tightly as I could.

We wont hand you over, I whispered, cradling them. No matter what. Dont be afraid.

Were not afraid, Mum, Harry said, fists clenched. Let them try.

Stephen entered, his face grim.

The papers are fake, he said shortly. The investigator spotted inconsistencies at once. The dates dont line up. When the children arrived with us, those parents were in Cornwalltravel tickets and photographs prove it.

Why would they do that? Poppy asked.

Petrovichsorry, Patelfigured it out. Their farm was in debt, workers had quit, and they needed cheap labour. They heard about us and forged the documents.

We stepped outside. The man was already being led to a police car. The woman shouted for a lawyer, for a trial.

Theyre our children! Youre stealing them!

Poppy faced her squarely and said, I found my parents fifteen years ago. They fed me, loved me, never left. You are strangers who wanted to use us.

The woman stepped back, stunned.

When the police cars drove away, only the four of us remained. Neighbours whispered and slowly drifted off.

Dad, Mum thank you for refusing to give us away, Harry hugged us both.

Silly boy, I stroked his hair. How could we? Youre ours.

Poppy smiled through tears. I used to wonder what would happen if my real parents were found. Now I know nothing would have changed. My real parents are here.

That evening we gathered around the same table as fifteen years ago, only now the children were adults. The love was the samewarm, steady, and unwavering.

Mom, tell us again how you found us, Poppy asked.

I smiled and began the story anewabout two little ones in the garden, how they slipped into our home and hearts, and how we became a family.

Later, my greatgrandson, little Jamie, ran into the yard, shouting, Grandma, look what Ive drawn!

Lovely! I said, taking the picture. Is that our house?

Yes! And thats you, Grandpa, Mum, Dad, Aunt Rose and Uncle Tom!

Poppy, now a doctor at the district hospital, entered, her belly round with her second child.

Did you manage the apple pies? I asked.

Of course, she replied. Your favourite, the ones with a crumble topping.

Years passed quickly. Poppy married the local vet, Tom, and settled back on the farm. Harry finished his agricultural studies and now runs the farm with Stephen. He married a schoolteacher, Kate, and they have a lively little boy named Oliver.

Grandpa! Oliver shouted, slipping from my arms and sprinting toward the garden.

Stephen, his hair now peppered with grey, lifted Oliver and spun him round. What will you be when you grow up, lad?

A farmer, like Dad and you! Oliver declared.

We all laughed, the house echoing with generations of joy.

One afternoon Kate arrived with a pot of stew, announcing, Were having twins!

Poppy hugged them, and Stephens grin widened. Thats what family is formaking the house full of life.

Around the big oak table, Harry recalled, Remember the fake parents who tried to claim the children?

How could I forget, Poppy said. Constable Patel still tells that story to new officers.

And I thought, what if they really were my birth parents? What if I had to leave? Harry continued. I realised that family isnt about blood. Its about the people who stand with you, every day.

Dont get all sentimental now, Stephen grumbled, but his eyes twinkled.

Uncle Harry, tell us the story again! Oliver begged.

Again?! Kate laughed. Hes heard it a hundred times already!

Harry began the tale. I watched my children, my daughtersinlaw, my grandson, and Stephen, who grew dearer to me with each passing year.

Once I thought I could never have children. Life gave me a miracletwo strangers who appeared in the garden between the carrot rows. Now our home is brimming with laughter, voices, and life.

Grandma, will I ever find someone in the garden when Im older? Oliver asked.

We all laughed. Maybe you will, I said, patting his head. Life is full of miracles. Keep your heart open, and love will find its way in.

The sun set behind the old apple tree, painting it pink, the very spot where it all began. The tree grew, just as we had, its roots deep in the earth and in our hearts.

And I knew one thing: this is not the end. Ahead lie many happy days, new smiles, new stories. A true familyalive, growinghas its roots wherever love is planted. The lesson is simple: love does not depend on blood; it thrives wherever an open heart lets it grow.