Mary Thompson kept an eye on her pupil Sam while his mother was at work. Yet no one could have imagined what would happen next.
Mrs. Thompson noticed that Sam had stopped coming to school in midNovember. At first she thought the boy was simply ill autumn brings colds and flu nothing unusual. But a week passed, then another, and he was still absent. During breaks she found herself waiting for Sam to slip into the classroom, take his seat by the window and pull out his favourite blue maths notebook. Yet his desk seemed to have vanished from the familiar layout of the room.
By the end of the second week her worry was unbearable. There was no word from his parents no phone call, no note. It was odd. Sam had always been a diligent, quiet student who loved mathematics, rarely missed lessons, and always turned in immaculate work. It cant be that simple, Mary thought as she flipped through the class register.
After school she walked to the school office.
Mrs. Clarke, do you happen to know whats happened to Sam Green? she asked, taking a seat at the reception desk. He hasnt been seen for ages.
The secretary looked up from her paperwork, adjusted her glasses and said, No ones called. Maybe theres a problem at home again. You know the area.
Mary knew the area well: rows of old terraced houses with peeling paint, back gardens where rubbish often lay by the front steps, noisy teenage gangs who seemed to claim every corner bench, and neighbourly disputes that seeped through thin walls.
She frowned.
But you cant just leave him. He has a mother, doesnt he?
Yes, he does, Mrs. Clarke replied dryly. But what kind of mother?
Mary rose silently.
Fine, Ill sort it out myself, she murmured, pulling on her coat.
Dont bother, the secretary muttered after her. If you want, go look.
Mary didnt answer. She hurried across the schoolyard, the sole question in her mind being: what had happened to Sam?
The hallway of the Green familys flat reeked of damp and stale tobacco. A flickering bulb lit the stairwell, and the steps were smeared with grime. Mary climbed to the third floor and knocked on a door painted a peeling brown.
Is anyone home? she called, but only silence answered.
She knocked again, louder. After a minute the door cracked open and Sam peeked out.
Mrs. Thompson? his voice trembled.
Sam, hello. Why havent you been at school? Whats going on?
He stayed silent, looking lost and exhausted. His cheeks were hollow and bruises shadowed his eyes.
Will you let me in? Mary asked gently.
Sam glanced around as if checking for hidden listeners, then opened the door wider.
Inside the flat was cramped and uncared for. In the corner a threeyearold girl named Lily was playing with a plastic spoon. Sam hurriedly closed the door behind Mary so Lily wouldnt feel the chill from the hallway.
This is my sister, Lily, he whispered.
Sam, tell me whats happening, Mary said firmly, sitting on a chair. Wheres your mother?
Shes at work, he answered, bowing his head.
And why isnt Lily in nursery?
Mom hasnt managed to get her in yet. She said she never had the time.
Mary sighed.
So youre looking after her while Moms away?
Sam nodded.
What about school?
He hesitated, then whispered, I cant. I cant leave Lily alone; shes too small.
Mary felt her heart tighten. None of her pupils had ever spoken of such a thing.
Sam, have you eaten today? she asked softly.
He shrugged. I dont know maybe this morning.
She stood.
Okay, this cant continue. Stay here. Ill be right back.
Where are you going? he asked, concerned.
To get food and some help.
Sam opened his mouth to argue but stayed quiet.
Mary stepped out, pulling out her mobile. She knew she couldnt abandon the children.
An hour later she returned, carrying heavy grocery bags. Sam opened the door again, his eyes still wary but a little less frightened.
Youre back? he muttered.
Of course, Mary replied cheerfully, setting the bags down. Wheres the kitchen?
He pointed uncertainly. She hurried to the indicated corner and laid the bags on the table: fresh bread, a bottle of milk, a bag of rice, a few apples, even a packet of biscuits. Sam stared at the spread, wideeyed.
This all for us? he asked.
Who else would it be? Mary smiled. Wheres a frying pan?
Sam seemed unsure of what she intended.
Im going to make dinner, she said firmly. You go play with Lily.
Sam lingered in the doorway, fists clenched, then asked, You really are going to do all this yourself?
Mary rolled up her sleeves, looked at him and said, Of course. Who else if not me?
She cracked eggs, melted butter, heated the pan and let it sizzle. Sam watched in silence, not knowing how to react.
Sam, why are you just standing there? she asked gently. Go on, Lilys probably bored.
Sam glanced at Lily, who was sitting with a doll, watching them from the corner.
Shes always quiet, he murmured.
Then its time to cheer her up, Mary replied with a grin. Dinner will be ready shortly.
Reluctantly Sam left the kitchen and Mary continued cooking. Within twenty minutes the table held scrambled eggs, sliced bread, mugs of tea and a small dish of apple wedges.
Everythings ready! she called. Come and eat!
Sam and Lily sat down. Lily stared at the food, then took a bite and brightened.
Delicious, she whispered, clutching her spoon.
Of course it is, Mary winked. I tried my best.
Sam ate quietly, stealing occasional glances at Mary, then finally asked, Why are you doing this?
Mary set down her fork and met his eyes. Because you matter to me, Sam. Youre my student and I care about you. Thats only natural.
He blushed and buried his face in his plate.
After dinner Mary cleared the table. Sam wanted to help but she waved him off.
Why dont you tidy Lilys toys? Ill finish here.
Ten minutes later she entered the room; the floor was clean, toys gathered, carpet swept.
Well done, she praised. Tomorrow Ill speak to Mrs. Patel, the neighbour next door. I think she can pop in now and then to help while your mother works.
Neighbour? Aunt Lena? Sam asked, surprised.
Yes, shes very kind. Ill arrange it, and youll be able to come to my house for lessons too.
Come to you? Why? he asked cautiously.
For homework, Mary replied. You cant keep missing school.
He hesitated, then nodded.
Alright.
Mary smiled. Youll see, everything will settle down.
Thus began Sams evenings at Marys home. After her own classes she would take him in, and together they delved into mathematics and literature. Occasionally they put the books aside and simply talked.
One day I wondered, Sam said once, drawing circles in his notebook, what would have happened if you hadnt shown up?
Someone else would have, Mary answered, smiling.
No, Sam shook his head seriously. No one would have.
Mary paused, then changed the subject.
By the way, youre doing maths, not philosophy. Hows question three?
Sam blushed but soon returned to the problems. He realised Marys help was more than just checking homework.
Gradually his school performance improved. Teachers stopped scolding, and neighbours noticed he no longer roamed the streets aimlessly. Sometimes, escorting him home, Mary saw Sams mother, exhausted after her shift, still trying to spend a little time with her children.
Thank you, a neighbour once said to Mary as they met at the doorstep. If it werent for you, I dont know what Sam would be doing now.
Dont mention it, Mary waved it off. Hes a bright lad. He just needed a push.
Pride warmed her voice.
Months passed. Sam grew more confident, no longer questioning why Mary spent her evenings with him. He simply accepted her support and repaid it with determination.
How do you manage it all, Mrs. Thompson? he asked one day, leafing through a history book. You have your own job too.
I manage because youre clever, Sam. You grasp things quickly, she replied with a smile.
He looked away shyly, but her words lodged in his mind, spurring him to work harder.
Six months later he was back in class, earning top marks. Mary felt a deep joy watching her effort bear fruit.
Years later Mary had retired and lived in a modest cottage. Former colleagues visited now and then, sharing stories of school changes and new challenges. She listened, but her thoughts often drifted back to the children shed helped.
One hot summer afternoon a knock sounded at her door. She dried her hands on an apron, approached cautiously, and opened it to a tall young man holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Thompson, he said, his voice unmistakably familiar.
Sam? she asked, eyes widening.
He smiled and nodded. Its me. I thought Id drop by.
Come in, she said, a little flustered, opening the door wider.
Inside they sat at the kitchen table for a long while. Sam spoke of university, of his mother finally securing a good job, of the life he now led.
Thank you for everything you did for me, he said suddenly, his tone serious.
Nonsense, Sam, Mary replied softly. I only helped a little.
No, you gave me a future, he insisted. Without you I wouldnt have made it.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
The most important thing is that youre happy, she whispered, her voice breaking just a touch.
They talked long into the evening, reminiscing about the past. When Sam finally left, Mary remained seated, looking at the flowers on the table. She realised that the greatest gift one can give is simply being there when someone truly needs you.
Helping others may cost time and effort, but it plants seeds that grow into futures far beyond our own lives. That is the lesson she carried with her, day after day.
