**Diary Entry**
Tommy sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window. He wasnt luckyhis view was of the quiet hospital courtyard, a neat little square with benches and flowerbeds, but hardly any people. Winter had settled in, and patients rarely ventured outside anymore. Tommy was alone in his ward. A week ago, his roommate, Jake Turner, had been discharged, and since then, the room felt emptier than ever. Jake had been lively, full of stories, and told them with the flair of a proper actorwhich he was, studying drama at university. With him around, loneliness was impossible. Plus, Jakes mum visited daily, bringing homemade cakes, fruit, and sweets, which he generously shared. Now, without Jake, the room had lost its warmth, and Tommy felt more abandoned than ever.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the nurse. His heart sankinstead of cheerful young Daisy, it was stern, perpetually scowling Margaret Dawson. In the two months Tommy had been here, hed never seen her smile. Her voice matched her expression: sharp, brusque, and utterly joyless.
“Right then, Thompson, quit daydreaming. Back to bed!” Margaret barked, syringe in hand.
Tommy sighed, turned his chair, and wheeled himself over. With practised ease, Margaret helped him lie flat, then flipped him onto his stomach.
“Trousers down,” she ordered. Tommy obeyed, bracing himselfbut felt nothing. Margaret was brilliant with needles, and for that, he was silently grateful.
*How old is she?* Tommy wondered, watching her examine the faint blue veins in his thin arm. *Must be near retirement. Small pension, so she has to workno wonder shes cross.*
The needle slipped in with barely a sting.
“Done, Thompson. Has the doctor been round today?” she asked abruptly, packing up.
“Not yet,” Tommy shook his head. “Might come later.”
“Well, wait then. And stop sitting by that windowyoull catch a chill. Skinny as a rake as it is.” With that, she marched out.
Tommy almost bristled, but something in her rough tone felt like carethe only kind hed known.
Tommy was an orphan. His parents had died in a house fire when he was four. Their cottage in the countryside had burned to the ground, and Tommy, thrown from a window into the snow by his mother, was the only survivor. The scar on his shoulder and his misshapen wrist were reminders. Relatives existed, but none had wanted him.
From his mother, hed inherited gentle eyes, a dreamy nature, and quiet resilience. From his fatherheight, a loping stride, and a knack for numbers. Memories of them were fleeting: a village fair, his mother laughing; his father carrying him on his shoulders, summer wind on his cheeks. A ginger cat, named Marmalade or Whiskershe couldnt quite recall. The fire had taken everything else.
No one visited him in hospital. At eighteen, the council gave him a small flat on the fourth floor of a walk-up. He didnt mind the solitude, but sometimes, watching families in parks or shops, a hollow ache settled in his chest.
Hed wanted to go to university but fell short on grades. College suited him fine, thoughexcept for the loneliness. Quiet and bookish, he had little in common with his classmates. Girls preferred bolder, chattier lads, and at eighteen, Tommy looked barely sixteen. He became the odd one out, but it didnt faze him.
Two months ago, rushing to class, hed slipped on icy steps, shattering both legs. Healing had been slow, but lately, hed improved. The prospect of discharge brought dreadhis building had no lift, no ramps.
After lunch, Dr. Harris, the orthopaedic surgeon, delivered the verdict: “Good news, Thomas. The fractures are healing well. Another fortnight, and youll be on crutches. Well discharge you todayoutpatient care from here. Someone picking you up?”
Tommy nodded silently.
“Right. Margaret will help you pack. Stay out of trouble, eh?”
As the doctor left, Tommys mind racedhow would he manage?
Margaret barged in. “Still dawdling, Thompson? Get packing. The cleaners coming.”
As he stuffed his meagre belongings into a rucksack, she fixed him with a piercing look.
“Whyd you lie to the doctor?”
Tommy feigned ignorance.
“Dont play daft. No ones coming for you. Howll you get home?”
“Ill manage,” he muttered.
“With two broken legs? Dont be daft.”
Suddenly, she sat beside him. “Listen, ladyoull need help. Stubborn wont fix this.”
“Ill cope.”
“No, you wont. Ive been at this thirty years. Stop acting the child.”
“Whats it to you?”
Margaret exhaled. “Youll stay with me. Ive a spare room. Gardens quiet, steps are few. Once youre back on your feet, off you go.”
Tommy stared. Live with her? They were strangers.
“Well?” she snapped.
“Its… kind, but”
“Kind? Its practical. Or would you rather starve in that flat?”
He wavered. True, he couldnt manage aloneand beneath her gruffness, shed always cared. *”Eat your greenscalciums good for bones.” “Shut that window, youll catch your death.”*
“Alright,” he said finally. “But Ive no moneystudent loans not due yet.”
She scowled. “Think Im after your pennies? Ive a soft spot for strays, is all.”
Margarets cottage was snuglow ceilings, a crackling hearth, the scent of stew. Tommy, awkward at first, soon relaxed. Snow outside, warmth withinit felt like home.
Weeks passed. The wheelchair gave way to crutches, then a slight limp.
At his final check-up, Margaret fussed. “Dont overdo it. Listen to the doctor!”
Tommy hesitated. He didnt want to leave. Shed become familya mother hed never dared hope for.
Packing the next day, he glanced upMargaret stood in the doorway, weeping.
Without thinking, he hugged her.
“Stay, Tommy,” she whispered.
And he did. Years later, she sat proudly as his mother at his wedding. And when his daughter was born, tiny and pink, he placed her in Margarets armsa grandmother at last.
**Lesson learned:** Kindness wears many facessometimes even a scowl. And family isnt always blood; sometimes, its the one you choose.
