**Diary Entry**
The night my world fell apart, the air smelled faintly of lavender detergent and burnt toast. My mother was fixing herself a late snack, and the bread had been left too long in the toaster, blackening at the edges. That scent mixed with the harshness of her wordswords Ill never forget:
*”If you want to keep that baby, you cant stay here. I wont allow it.”*
I was seventeen, holding my breath to keep from crying. My father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silence more brutal than my mothers anger. He wouldnt look at me, and that hurt worse. In his eyes, I saw shame, disappointment, something close to disgust.
My hand moved instinctively to the small swell of my belly. Only four months along, barely noticeable, but enough that my secret couldnt stay hidden under baggy jumpers. Id been terrified to tell them, but a small part of me had hoped theyd soften, remember I was still their daughter. I was wrong.
That night, with nowhere to go, I stuffed essentials into a bagclothes, a toothbrush, schoolbooks, and the ultrasound tucked inside a notebook. Neither of my parents stopped me as I walked out. My mother turned her back; my father lit a cigarette on the porch, face like stone. The door shut behind me, and just like that, I was no longer their child.
I wandered for hours through the quiet streets of our small town. The air was crisp, streetlamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Every step grew heavier. Where could I go? My best mates parents were too strict and religioustheyd never take me in. The boy responsiblemy boyfriendhad vanished the moment I told him. *”Im not ready to be a dad,”* hed said. As if I were ready to be a mum.
By midnight, I found myself in the park. I sat on a bench, clutching my bag, stomach twisted with hunger and fear. The night swallowed me whole, and I realised Id never felt so alone.
Then the strangest thing happened.
A figure appeared down the path, moving with surprising energy for someone who had to be over seventy. She wore a long purple coat, mismatched glovesone red, one greenand a scarf wrapped three times around her neck. A wide-brimmed hat hid most of her silver curls, though a few escaped. She pushed a trolley decorated with clinking charms and stickers.
She noticed me straight away and, instead of crossing the road like most would at the sight of a girl alone at night, she marched right over.
*”Oh, now,”* she said cheerfully, her voice a mix of grit and warmth, *”you look like a lost sparrow perched on the wrong branch.”*
I blinked, unsure what to say. *”I dont have anywhere to go.”*
*”Dont we all feel that way sometimes?”* she mused, sitting beside me. *”Im Agnes, but everyone calls me Aggie. And you?”*
*”Emily,”* I whispered.
*”Lovely name,”* she said, adjusting her gloves. Her clear blue eyes studied my face, then dropped to my stomach. *”Ah. Theres the story.”*
My cheeks burned. *”My parents kicked me out.”*
*”Then they werent doing what parents ought to,”* she replied firmly. *”Their loss. Up you getcome home with me.”*
I stared. *”I dont even know you.”*
She chuckled. *”And yet, Im the only one offering you a roof tonight. Dont fret, loveIm eccentric, not dangerous. Ask around. For decades, Ive fed stray cats and stray people. Youre both.”*
I nearly laughed, which felt strange after hours of despair. Against every instinct warning me not to trust strangers, I stood and followed her. There was something about Aggiea steadiness, even in her oddness.
From that night, my life began again. Aggie gave me a room, took me to appointments, taught me to cook, pushed me to study, and reminded me daily I wasnt alone. She was eccentric, suretalked to plants, turned abandoned trolleys into flower beds, wore mismatched earringsbut she had an unshakable strength. She never pitied me; she made me stronger.
When my daughter Lily was born, Aggie was there, gripping my hand and crying with joy. Over the years, she helped me finish school, enrol in uni, become a mother and a woman who believed in herself.
One day, she told me, *”This house will be yours and Lilys when Im gone. No arguments. I didnt save youyou saved yourself. I just gave you a place to rest till your wings grew back.”*
Aggie left us years later, but her legacy lives in every room of this turquoise house and in every kindness I pass on.
Now I tell Lily the story of that night, when an old woman in a purple coat decided we were worth saving.
And I repeat Aggies words often: *”Kindness is a debt paid over a lifetime.”*
Thats why I open my door, my heart, my classroom to those in need. Because I know what its like to be lost and how much it matters when someone chooses to find you.
