I was a lazy, spoiled twenty-year-old layabout. But one encounter turned my life upside down.
When I was five or six, Mum would often say, “Son, you ought to have everything you want—end of.” At first, it was toys, then the biggest slice of cake at parties, then medals in school competitions. If things didn’t go my way, I’d throw a tantrum until I got what I wanted. Without even noticing, I grew up believing the world owed me something. Not just owed—*owed absolutely*.
Mum did her best. To her, I was the only light in her life, and she did everything to make me feel special. But that smothering love, that endless indulgence, didn’t make me a better person. Quite the opposite—I became selfish, lazy, useless. I lived for pleasure, thinking it’d last forever. Then—everything fell apart. First, I got sacked from the job Mum had begged a favour for. Then, she died. Suddenly. An illness no one caught in time. And in that moment, I was left empty—no money, no friends, no purpose. Like my whole world had vanished.
That’s when I remembered I had a father.
He’d always been quiet, almost invisible next to Mum’s towering presence. Never argued, never took charge. Just lived in the shadows. But after she was gone, he changed. Or rather, he became himself. He looked at me differently, like I was a lost child who could still be saved. A few months later, he said, “Time for a change. We’re moving to the countryside.” I was stunned.
“*What?* Me? The countryside?” I spat, a proper city boy used to lounging in comfort.
“We’ll grow sunflowers. Maybe keep some chickens,” he said, calm as you like.
I slammed the door in his face. He left without me. Didn’t argue. Smart man.
Two months I wandered London, job hunting—useless. Got sacked within the week. Nothing worked. Money ran out, pride evaporated. Desperate, I rang Dad, hoping he’d wire me some cash. Instead, he said:
“Come and see for yourself.”
No choice left. Three days later, I was on a train to a tiny village near York. In the carriage, I met a woman. We chatted. Turned out she was heading the same way—to her mum’s, where her daughter lived. We walked together, and suddenly, I saw a girl, about twelve, digging in the garden outside a cottage.
“Hello! Want a spade? Soil’s soft today—perfect for tomatoes,” she said, beaming.
It hit me like lightning. This girl was everything I wasn’t. She was the woman’s daughter, living next to Dad. Since he wasn’t home, they invited me in. Stayed for dinner, and before I knew it, I was standing in the garden with a spade, listening to this kid, Lily, cheerfully explaining how to plant seedlings. And… I liked it.
From then on, everything shifted. Spent more time with her. While Dad worked the fields with her mum—Margaret—I stayed with Lily. She showed me how to clean the shed, milk the goat, chop dill for drying… Energy for days. Lost her dad at seven, battled illness, never once complained. Stronger and wiser than I’d ever be.
And then—something cracked in me. Started waking early, carrying buckets, feeding chickens, running through the veg patch with her, laughing, learning to enjoy the small things. Then one day, she got sick. Fever spiked. Weak constitution. Everyone panicked. That night was hell. I never left her side. Only then did I realise—I wasn’t the same man anymore.
Six months later, I barely recognised myself. I’d become someone my old self would’ve mocked. Loved watching flowers bloom. Carried feed buckets with pride. Learned to cook. Learned to live.
Later, I went back to the city. Studied to be a teacher—funny, isn’t it? Spoilt layabout who could barely function, now teaching kids. But d’you know? I made it work. Now I’ve got my own class, students still visit after graduation, just to talk. Got a family too. Two kids. A wife. Her name’s Emily. She’s my rock.
And Lily? She’s my stepsister now. Dad married Margaret. I became her big brother, her best friend, probably. Every time I look at her, I know—she saved me. Not Dad, not life, not hardship—*her*. A little girl with a spade in her hands.
Funny how one meeting changes everything. And the best part? It’s never too late to start fresh. Even at twenty. Even when you’re nothing. You just need someone to show you how to live.
