**Diary Entry A Winters Kindness**
Tom sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimy hospital window at the courtyard below. He hadnt been luckyhis room faced the quiet hospital garden, where empty benches and flowerbeds stood under a grey winter sky. Few patients braved the cold for a stroll, leaving the place deserted. It had been a week since his roommate, Jack Thompson, was discharged, and the ward felt emptier than ever. Jack was a lively bloke, always cracking jokes and spinning tales like a proper actorwhich he was, studying drama at university. With him around, boredom was impossible. His mum visited daily too, bringing pies, fruit, and sweets, which Jack generously shared. Now, without him, the room had lost its warmth, and Tom had never felt so alone.
His brooding was interrupted by the nurses arrival. His heart sankit wasnt sweet young Daisy, but stern, frowning Margaret Dawson. In two months, hed never seen her smile, and her voice was as sharp as her glare.
“Oi, Thompson, quit loungingback to bed!” she barked, syringe at the ready.
Tom sighed, wheeled himself over, and let her manoeuvre him into position. Margaret worked swiftly, flipping him onto his stomach.
“Trousers down,” she ordered. He obeyed andfelt nothing. For all her brusqueness, her injections were painless, and for that, he was silently grateful.
*How old is she?* he wondered, watching her examine his thin arm. *Must be near retirement. Small pension, forced to workno wonder shes cross.*
The needle slid in with barely a sting.
“Done. Has the doctor been round?” she asked unexpectedly.
Tom shook his head. “Not yet. Might come later.”
“Then wait. And quit sitting by the windowyoull catch your death,” she muttered before leaving.
He almost bristled, but something in her tonerough yet oddly caringstopped him.
Tom was an orphan. His parents had died in a fire when he was four. His mother, saving his life, had thrown him from a window into the snow just before the roof collapsed. The burns on his shoulder and his crooked wrist were the only reminders he had of them. No relatives had taken him in, so he grew up in care.
From his mother, hed inherited gentle green eyes and a dreamy nature; from his father, his height, long stride, and knack for maths. His memories were sparsevague clips of village fairs, his fathers shoulders beneath him, the warm summer wind. Thered been a ginger cat, tooTiger or Marmalade? Even the family photo album had burned.
No one visited him in hospital. At eighteen, the council gave him a bright room in a fourth-floor flat. He didnt mind solitude, 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 a technical college instead. Quiet and bookish, he struggled to fit in. The lads preferred pints and video games; the girls liked chattier, bolder boys. By eighteen, he looked sixteen, and soon became the odd one outthough it never seemed to bother him.
Two months ago, rushing to class on icy pavement, hed slipped in an underpass and broken both legs. The fractures were bad, healing slowly, but lately hed improved. The doctors said hed be discharged soononly to face a new worry: his flat had no lift, no wheelchair access.
That afternoon, Dr. Harris, the orthopaedic specialist, examined him.
“Good news, Thomas. The bones are mending. Another fortnight, and youll be on crutches. No sense keeping you hereoutpatient care from now. Someone picking you up?”
Tom nodded, lying.
“Grand. Margaret will help you pack. Try not to break anything else.”
Left alone, Tom panicked. How would he manage?
Margaret returned, tossing his rucksack onto the bed. “Get packing. Matrons coming to strip the sheets.”
As he stuffed his meagre belongings inside, she fixed him with a sharp look.
“Whyd you lie to the doctor?”
“About what?”
“Dont play daft. Nobodys coming for you. How will you get home?”
“Ill manage,” he muttered.
“You cant walk yet. How will you live?”
“Im not a child.”
She sat beside him, unexpectedly soft. “Thomas, youll need help. You wont manage alone.”
“I will.”
“You wont. Ive been a nurse thirty years. Stop being stubborn.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you can stay with me. Ive a spare room. Once youre back on your feet, you can leave.”
He stared. Live with her? They were strangers. Yethadnt she always looked out for him? *”Eat your greens.” “Shut that drafty window.”*
“IIve no money for rent,” he admitted.
She scowled. “Dyou think Id charge you? Im offering because I want to.”
“I didnt mean”
“Enough. Wait in the nurses station. My shift ends soon.”
Her cottage was small, snug, with lace curtains and a wood burner. The first few days, Tom barely left his room, too shy to ask for anything.
“Stop moping,” she finally snapped. “Ask if you need somethingyoure not a guest.”
He grew to love it therethe snow outside, the fires crackle, her cooking. It felt like home.
Weeks passed. The wheelchair went, then the crutches.
On his last hospital check-up, limping beside her, he fretted about exams.
“Take a deferral,” she chided. “No good rushingdoctors orders.”
Theyd grown close. Too close to leave, though he couldnt admit it.
Packing the next day, he turnedand found her crying in the doorway.
“Stay, Thomas,” she whispered.
He hugged her tight.
And he stayed. Years later, she sat proudly as his mother-of-the-groom at his wedding. A year after that, she cradled his newborn daughterlittle Margaretin her arms.
**Lesson:** Kindness wears many faces. Sometimes its gruff, sometimes quietbut its always worth recognising.
