**Diary Entry**
Tom sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window. The view wasnt muchjust a quiet courtyard with benches and flowerbeds, deserted in the winter chill. The ward felt emptier since his roommate, Jake Thompson, had been discharged a week ago. Jake had been lively, full of stories, and studying drama at uni. Hed made the days bearable, even fun. Not to mention his mum brought pastries and sweets, which Jake always shared. Without him, the room lost its warmth, and loneliness crept in.
A nurses entrance snapped Tom from his thoughts. His heart sankit wasnt the cheerful young nurse, Emily, but the stern, perpetually scowling Margaret Hayes. In two months, Tom had never seen her smile. Her voice matched her expressionsharp, blunt, and unwelcoming.
“Right then, Thomas, stop lounging. Onto the bed!” she barked, syringe at the ready.
Tom sighed, wheeled himself over, and obeyed. Margaret helped him lie down with practised ease, rolling him onto his stomach.
“Trousers down,” she ordered. He complied and barely felt the needleher precision was the one thing he appreciated.
*She must be retired*, he thought, watching her examine his thin arm. *Probably working for a pittanceno wonder shes sour.*
The needle slipped into his pale vein with barely a sting.
“All done. Has the doctor been round today?” she asked unexpectedly as she packed up.
Tom shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe later.”
“Wait here, then. And dont sit by the windowyoull catch a chill, looking half-dead as it is.”
He almost bristled, but beneath her brusqueness, he sensed concern. A rare thing for himTom was alone in the world.
His parents died in a house fire when he was four. His mother, in her last moments, threw him from a window into the snow. The burns on his shoulder and the crooked wrist were all that remained of them. No relatives stepped forward, so he grew up in care.
From his mother, he inherited dreamy green eyes and a gentle nature; from his father, height, a long stride, and a knack for maths. Memories of them were fragmentsa village fair, his fathers shoulders, a ginger cat named Whiskers. No photos survived the fire.
At eighteen, the council gave him a small flat. Solitude suited him, but sometimes the loneliness ached. Watching families in parks or shops twisted something inside him.
Hed wanted to go to university but ended up at college instead. Quiet and bookish, he never fit in. Girls preferred lads who talked more, and at nineteen, he still looked sixteen. A loner, but it never bothered him.
Then, two months ago, rushing to class, he slipped on icy pavement and broke both legs. The fractures were bad, healing slowly. Now, finally improving, he faced a new worryhis flat had no lift or ramps. How would he manage?
That afternoon, Dr. Harris, the orthopaedic specialist, delivered the news. “Good progress, Thomas. Another fortnight, and youll be on crutches. Time to go homeanyone meeting you?”
Tom nodded vaguely.
“Excellent. Margaret will help you pack. Try not to break anything else.”
As the doctor left, Tom panicked. How *would* he manage?
Margaret returned, tossing his rucksack onto the bed. “Get packing. The cleaners coming.”
As he stuffed his meagre belongings, she eyed him. “Whyd you lie to the doctor?”
“About what?”
“Dont play daft. No ones fetching you. Howll you get home?”
“Ill manage.”
“With two busted legs? Dont be daft.”
Her tone softened. “Listen, Thomasyoull need help. Stay with me. Ive a spare room, and my cottage has just two steps. Once youre back on your feet, you can leave.”
Tom hesitated. A strangers home? But Margaret wasnt entirely a stranger. For months, her gruff care had been constant*”Eat your greens,” “Shut that drafty window,” “Take your vitamins.”* Now, she was the only one offering help.
“I Id appreciate that. But Ive no money to sparestudent loans weeks away.”
She scowled. “Think Im after your pennies? Im offering because you *need* it.”
Tom flushed. “Sorry, I didnt mean”
“Enough. Wait in the nurses station. My shift ends soon.”
Her cottage was small, with lace curtains and a wood stove. The spare room was cosy, but Tom tiptoed around, afraid to impose.
“Stop moping,” Margaret chided. “Ask if you need something.”
Gradually, he relaxed. The crackling fire, the smell of stewit felt like the home hed lost.
Weeks passed. The wheelchair gave way to crutches, then a slight limp. At his final check-up, Tom fretted about missed exams.
“Take a deferral,” Margaret insisted. “Your health comes first.”
Theyd grown close. Tom dreaded leavingshed become the mother hed missed. But admitting it felt too raw.
Packing the next day, he glanced up to find Margaret in the doorway, tears in her eyes. Without thinking, he hugged her.
“Stay, Thomas,” she whispered. “Ill miss you.”
He did. Years later, she sat proudly as his mother at his wedding. And when his daughter was born, Margaret cradled her namesakeanother little Margaretin her arms.
*Sometimes family isnt blood. Its the people who choose you.*
