The maid took pity and fed the orphan while the masters were away. The returned wealthy couple did not believe their eyes.

Yulia Antonovna had long served in the Grigoryev household—Vladimir and Lyudmila. Today the masters had gone somewhere, and the maid, having finished all her chores around the house, sat down to rest by the window. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a little boy on the street. Skinny and clad in tattered clothes, he was wandering along the fence of their property.

“Perhaps he’s hungry,” sighed Yulia Antonovna, feeling pity for the unfortunate child. Glancing at the huge clock in the living room, she decided that the couple wouldn’t return anytime soon and stepped out into the yard.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly, addressing the boy who was carefully watching the street. “Vasya,” he replied, giving her a wary look from beneath his disheveled bangs. “Well then, Vasya, come with me. I’ll feed you some fresh apple pie,” the woman offered, and the boy, without hesitation, followed her. His stomach had been rumbling from hunger for a long time—he hadn’t eaten anything that day.

In the kitchen, Yulia Antonovna carefully cut an impressive slice of pie with a knife and placed a plate in front of the hungry little one.

For illustrative purpose only

“Oh, it’s so delicious!” Vasya exclaimed, greedily biting into the soft pastry. “My mother used to bake a pie just like this once!” “And where is your mother?” the woman asked cautiously. The boy paused, stopped chewing, and sadly lowered his eyes. “I’ve been looking for her for a long time… She disappeared,” he murmured softly. “Eat, eat,” Yulia Antonovna gently encouraged him. “You’ll find your mother, I’m sure you will.”

At that moment, the front door creaked, and Vladimir and Lyudmila entered the house. The maid flinched at the sound of the footsteps.

“And who do we have here as our guest?” Vladimir asked in surprise as he peered into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the boy. “Who did you bring in, Yulia?” he said sternly to the maid. “This child is looking for his mother; he’s hungry, and I decided to feed him,” the woman replied calmly, shrugging her shoulders.

“So now you’re feeding all sorts of strays? And our opinion no longer matters to you?” the master of the house protested.

Hearing these words, Vasya began to cry. “I’m going to leave now,” he mumbled, putting the half-eaten piece of pie back on the plate.

For illustrative purpose only

Then Lyudmila intervened: “Wait, boy,” she said softly. “Tell me, where are you from? Where did you lose your mother?”

Lyudmila had always been gentler than her husband. Sometimes Vladimir would scold her for being overly kind, but he had never succeeded in changing her nature.

“I live with my grandfather, but he’s mean. He’s always scolding me for something, and sometimes he even hits me. I ran away from him,” Vasya confessed, and he pulled from the pocket of his old, ragged trousers a yellowed photograph.

“These are my parents. We used to live together,” said the boy, wiping away his tears with his hand as he handed the photo to the homeowners.

Lyudmila, taking the photo in her hands, froze…In the photo was her daughter, Varya! “Look, Volodya, it’s our girl!” she exclaimed, trembling as she passed the photo to her husband.

Vladimir reluctantly took the photo. “Vasya, how did you come by this photo?” he asked in surprise.

“I stole it from my grandfather. On the other side is an address, so I came here. I thought maybe my mother lives here,” the boy answered as he calmed down. “Grandpa always says that my mother is like a cuckoo who abandoned me. But I don’t believe him!”

“It can’t be! It can’t be!” Lyudmila repeated, recalling how their daughter Varya had once run away with a Gypsy named Manush. For several years they hadn’t heard from her, and then she returned, only to be involved in an accident soon after. That day became a nightmare for them, after which they were left completely alone in these huge mansions.

“And where is your father?” Vladimir asked. “And my father is gone. He was buried six months ago,” Vasya cried once more.

For illustrative purpose only

The pair was stunned. They had found a grandson! Tired of loneliness, they decided to keep the boy with them.

“You know, little one, we’ll take you to your room,” said Lyudmila. “And will my mother come?” asked Vasya. “Your mother is now with your father,” the woman replied sadly.

Vasya paled.

After a while, the couple finalized the adoption documents. The boy’s grandfather did not object upon learning that his grandson could be taken in by affluent people.

Yulia Antonovna was delighted. Thanks to that day when she met the little one, the homeowners became happy. In time, Vasya was no longer the destitute, hungry stray. Instead, he became a well-dressed boy, aware of proper manners, with a loving family.

My Daughter Ran Away from Our Shed Saying Someone Was Inside – I Checked and Called My Husband Immediately

When my daughter Cinthy ran into the house, screaming about something in our shed, I went to investigate and called my husband immediately for help. What I discovered hiding inside changed our lives forever, leading us down a path filled with shocking revelations and unexpected new bonds.

I left work in a hurry, eager to pick up Cinthy from Linda’s place. Linda had been our nanny ever since Cinthy was a baby. She couldn’t have children of her own, so she poured all her love into caring for Cinthy.

When I arrived, Linda was playing chess with Cinthy, delighting in her skillful gameplay.

A woman and young girl paying chess | Source: Pexels

A woman and young girl paying chess | Source: Pexels

“Hi, Clara,” Linda greeted me with a warm smile. “Cinthy’s been a delight, as always.”

“Thanks, Linda. Ready to go home, sweetheart?” I asked Cinthy.

“Yeah, Mommy!” Cinthy chirped, grabbing her sling bag.

Little girl with her bag | Source: Pexels

Little girl with her bag | Source: Pexels

As we walked home, Cinthy chattered about her day at school. Once we arrived, I set her to play outside while I started making dinner.

I was chopping vegetables when I heard a piercing scream. Cinthy burst through the kitchen door, eyes wide with terror.

“Mommy! There’s something in the shed!”

A woman preparing a meal | Source: Pexels

A woman preparing a meal | Source: Pexels

I dropped the knife and crouched down to her level. “What did you see, honey?”

“I… I don’t know. Something moved in there.”

I glanced outside, then back at Cinthy. “Stay here,” I instructed firmly. I grabbed my phone and headed to the shed, my heart pounding.

The shed was old and creaky. I opened the door slowly, peering into the dim light. The air smelled musty, like old wood and dirt.

A hand opening a shed door | Source: Pexels

A hand opening a shed door | Source: Pexels

As I stepped inside, I noticed the cellar hatch closing. My first reaction was that it must be a burglar intent on stealing the garden tools and whatever else we had stored in there.

“Hello?” I called out. “Who’s there?”

No answer. I strained to hear any sounds but there was only silence. My mind whirled with possibilities. I quickly locked the shed door from the outside and ran back to the house.

A woman inside a garden shed | Source: Freepik

A woman inside a garden shed | Source: Freepik

I dialed my husband, James, who was away on a business trip. He picked up immediately.

“Clara? What’s wrong?”

“I think there’s someone robbing our shed, James! They ducked down into the cellar when I went in to investigate. I locked the door to the shed, what should I do now?”

“Clara, call the cops right away. Don’t go near there. Be careful. I’ll catch the next flight home, but call me back as soon as the police get there.”

A woman looks at her cell phone | Source: Pexels

A woman looks at her cell phone | Source: Pexels

I hung up and dialed 911. “Hello, I think someone has broken into my garden shed at 122 Vine. I need a patrol car to come immediately!”

The operator assured me help was on the way. I turned to Cinthy, who was clinging to my leg. “It’s okay, sweetie. The police are coming.”

Minutes later, two officers arrived. I led them to the shed and unlocked the door. They entered cautiously, flashlights sweeping the darkness. One of them lifted the cellar hatch and shone her light down.

A male and female police officer | Source: Pexels

A male and female police officer | Source: Pexels

Minutes later, two officers arrived. I led them to the shed and unlocked the door. They entered cautiously, flashlights sweeping the darkness.

“Ma’am, please stay back. We need to check this out,” one officer said, his hand hovering over his holster. “If it’s a burglar, they might be armed and dangerous.”

They moved towards the cellar hatch, one of them lifting it slowly. “Ready?” he asked his partner.

“Ready,” she replied, her flashlight steady.

A bed in a basement room | Source: Pexels

A bed in a basement room | Source: Pexels

The beam of light cut through the darkness, and the officer froze. “Wait, they’re just kids,” she said, her voice full of surprise. “It’s okay, kids. We’re here to help you.”

Two boys, no older than twelve, emerged. They were dirty and thin, their eyes wide with fear. I noticed makeshift beds and empty cans of beans in the cellar. They had been living there, surviving on what little they could find.

“Please don’t send us back,” one of them pleaded. “We can’t go back to that place.”

A police officer addresses a young boy | Source: Pexels

A police officer addresses a young boy | Source: Pexels

The officer knelt down. “What are your names?”

“Joe,” the boy replied. “And this is my twin brother, Stan.”

Looking at the two boys, my heart ached. “Why were you hiding in our shed?”

Joe looked at Stan before speaking. “We ran away from the home. The people there are mean to us.”

A police officer taking notes | Source: Pexels

A police officer taking notes | Source: Pexels

I looked at the officers. “What will happen to them now?”

“We’ll take them to the station,” one said. “We need to contact this home and get them checked out.”

“Can I come with them?” I asked.

The officer hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, but we need to get them to the hospital first.”

A medical professional | Source: Pexels

A medical professional | Source: Pexels

I turned to the boys. “I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Joe nodded, tears brimming in his eyes. “Thank you.”

As we walked to the police car, Cinthy tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, can they stay with us?”

I looked at the officers. “Is that possible?”

“We’ll see,” one replied. “For now, let’s get them the help they need.”

An old house | Source: Pexels

An old house | Source: Pexels

At the hospital, the boys were checked by doctors. They were malnourished but otherwise fine. I stayed with them, sitting in the waiting room and holding their hands.

The police found the so-called “home” the boys described, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that sending them back there was a bad idea.

The next day, I took Cinthy to school and then drove to the home. The building was cold and unwelcoming. The director, Adam, greeted me with a forced smile.

“Mrs. Thompson, I understand you found two of our wards,” he said.

A sinister-looking man | Source: Pexels

A sinister-looking man | Source: Pexels

“Yes, Joe and Stan. They said they ran away because of mistreatment.”

His smile faltered. “They’re troubled boys. They don’t adjust well.”

“Is that so?” I replied. “I’d like to see where they’ve been living.”

He hesitated, then led me through dimly lit hallways. The rooms were crowded with un-made beds and the place had a generally depressed air about it. I felt a surge of anger.

Depressing looking room | Source: Freepik

Depressing looking room | Source: Freepik

Back at home, I discussed everything with Linda and her husband, Peter. “Those boys can’t stay there,” I said. “We have to do something.”

Linda nodded, her eyes teary. “Peter and I have been talking. We want to foster them. But we don’t have much.”

“Whatever you need, we’ll help,” I promised.

The next few weeks were a blur of paperwork and meetings. We faced resistance from Adam, who insisted the boys were better off at the “home.”

A pair of blond boys | Source: Pexels

A pair of blond boys | Source: Pexels

But we were determined. Cinthy and I visited Joe and Stan regularly, bringing them homemade meals and spending time with them.

One evening, while we were there, I overheard Adam arguing with a social worker. “We’re under investigation, but those kids are lying!”

I pulled the social worker aside. “What’s happening?”

She sighed. “We’ve had reports of neglect. We’re trying to find new homes for all the children here.”

Two women talking | Source: Freepik

Two women talking | Source: Freepik

Then, Joe was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. This was the last straw. I contacted a lawyer and threatened Adam with legal action and media exposure.

As the investigation continued, more about the sinister operations of the home came to light. Adam and his wife, Julia, ran the place as an income generation scheme. They fostered as many children as they could, claiming government grants, but kept most of the money for themselves.

A young boy has his temperature measured | Source: Pexels

A young boy has his temperature measured | Source: Pexels

I confronted Adam and Julia one last time. “How could you do this to these kids?”

Julia sneered. “They’re just orphans. No one cares.”

“Well, I care. And I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”

With the help of the lawyer and the social worker, we ensured Joe and Stan were removed from that awful place. The news of the home’s neglect spread, and other children were rescued and placed in better care.

Disheveled children | Source: Pexels

Disheveled children | Source: Pexels

Linda and Peter finally welcomed Joe and Stan into their home. They were safe, loved, and starting to heal. I continued to support them, knowing this was just the beginning of a new chapter for all of us.

One evening, I visited Linda and Peter’s house. The boys were settling in nicely, their faces brighter and more hopeful. Cinthy, Joe, and Stan were playing together in the living room.

Children playing chess together | Source: Pexels

Children playing chess together | Source: Pexels

At dinner, we all sat around the table, sharing stories and laughter. As we ate, I noticed Joe pushing his food around on his plate, a small grin forming on his face.

“Everything okay, Joe?” I asked.

He looked up, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I was just wondering… do you have any more of those canned beans? You know, the ones from the shed?”

A family enjoying a meal together | Source: Pexels

A family enjoying a meal together | Source: Pexels

We all laughed, the tension easing from the room. It was the first time I’d seen him joke about their ordeal.

“I think we can find something a little better than canned beans,” Peter said, chuckling.

Joe nodded, his grin widening. “Just checking.”

After dinner, we gathered in the living room. I looked at Joe and Stan, their faces glowing with the warmth of family.

A boy at a family dinner table | Source: Pexels

A boy at a family dinner table | Source: Pexels

“You have a family now,” I told them. “A real family who loves you and will take care of you.”

Joe’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Clara. For everything.”

“No need to thank me. Just be happy and safe,” I replied, my heart swelling with emotion.

As I watched them interact, I felt a sense of peace. These boys had been through so much, but they were resilient. With the love and support of Linda, Peter, and all of us, they had a chance to build a better future.

Woman talking to little boy | Source: Pexels

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