**June 12th, 1985**
From the time she was a girl, Emily adored children. She grew up in a quiet village near York, where neighbours seemed to have a new baby every year. Her friend Martha often trusted her with lively twins, Alfie and Oliver. Emily, barely seven herself, would fuss over them—feeding them little spoonfuls, pushing their pram down the lane. That caring nature never left her.
Years passed, but her love for children only grew. After finishing school, she trained as a cook and took a job in the school canteen. It was there, in that same village, she met William—a shy, kind-hearted man who lingered over his meals, stealing glances at her. One day, he gathered his courage and approached her.
“I’m William,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Emily… I rather fancy you.”
Her pulse jumped. She fancied him too. Within a month, they were inseparable. A year of walks, quiet talks, and stolen kisses led to the question.
“Marry me, Em. I don’t need anyone else. You’re it for me.”
The wedding was small but warm. Their families approved, and married life began—happy, save for one sorrow. No children came.
Emily endured tests, saw specialists. The diagnosis crushed her. William held her tight and said, “I don’t care if we never have our own. Having you is enough.”
Later, they moved to a cottage. William dreamed of a garden; Emily agreed. Life settled into a gentle rhythm near the school where she still worked.
Then she noticed two boys in the canteen—brothers, Thomas and Harry, nine and ten. Quiet, polite, always together. They lingered after meals, clearing trays, wiping tables. Once, she saw them tucking food into a bag.
“We’ve got dogs at home,” Thomas explained. “Hate wasting it.”
Emily nodded. “Of course, take some. I’m sure they’ll love it.”
Days later, she mentioned it to one of Thomas’s classmates.
“Dogs? They don’t have any. I live next door.”
Her chest tightened. The boys weren’t feeding dogs—they were feeding themselves. She asked around. Their mother was gravely ill, no family, living off disability benefits.
Emily began packing extra portions, no questions asked. The brothers grew fond of her, smiling, joking, asking when she’d next be on shift.
Then, after half-term, they vanished. She waited, uneasy. Spotting a neighbour, she asked, “Where are Thomas and Harry?”
“You hadn’t heard? Their mum passed in January. They’ve been taken into care…”
The world blurred. She sat by the window, numb. William noticed.
“You could visit them. Find out where they are. If you want.”
The next day, she brought sweets and drove to the children’s home. When the boys saw her, they ran into her arms. From then on, she visited every weekend.
Until one day, the staff told her, “A family’s taken them for the weekend. They’re considering adoption.”
Emily walked out in a daze. Her heart ached. “I can’t lose them.” She called William.
“I want to adopt them. Is that alright?”
“’Course it is. We’ll manage. It’s meant to be.”
Paperwork followed. The odds were slim, but the boys’ words decided it. Thomas and Harry insisted, “We want to live with Emily and William. We love them.”
And so, their family was complete.
Now, Thomas and Harry are men with families of their own. But every Sunday, they return to that cottage—where they were first welcomed—to share a meal with Emily and William. And they still say, “You’re our real mum and dad.”
Funny, how kindness can rewrite a life.
