{"id":114356,"date":"2025-02-21T15:42:32","date_gmt":"2025-02-21T08:42:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/?p=114356"},"modified":"2025-02-21T15:42:32","modified_gmt":"2025-02-21T08:42:32","slug":"i-found-a-girl-on-the-street-no-one-was-looking-for-her-so-i-raised-her-as-my-own","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/i-found-a-girl-on-the-street-no-one-was-looking-for-her-so-i-raised-her-as-my-own\/","title":{"rendered":"I Found a Girl on The Street, No One Was Looking for Her, So I Raised Her As My Own…"},"content":{"rendered":"

At forty-two, I lived alone, if you don\u2019t count a ginger cat named Oliver, who honestly looked more like a small pillow with a cheeky face. After my divorce, neither my personal life nor my relationship with my children turned out well. I worked at the village library, knitted socks in the evenings, and watched TV shows\u2014just the typical life of an ordinary woman from the sticks.\n

I was just wondering if I had the strength to drag these damn bags home when I noticed her. A little gure in a thin jacket was sitting under an old oak tree, hugging her knees. At rst, I even thought I was seeing things\u2014
\nwho in their right mind would leave a child alone between villages in such weather?\n

\u2018Girl, whose are you?\u2019 I called out, approaching her. She lifted her head\u2014a pale little face, frightened eyes, and silent. She just wrapped herself tighter. \u2018Are you lost? Where are your parents?\u2019 Silence. Only her lips trembled.
\n $\"\"$
\n\u2018Lord, you\u2019re completely frozen!\u2019 I put down my bags and sat next to her. \u2018My name is Tatiana Williams. And what\u2019s yours?\u2019 \u2018S-Sophie,\u2019 she whispered faintly. \u2018Sophie, will you come to my house? I\u2019ll make you some hot tea, you\u2019ll warm up, and then we\u2019ll gure out where you\u2019re from.\u2019 She timidly nodded, and I, grabbing the bags with one hand, took her icy little hand with the other. So we went\u2014I, hufng under the weight of the potatoes, and she, trotting alongside like a little sparrow.\n

At home, the rst thing I did was wrap her in a blanket, turn on the heater, and put the kettle on. Oliver, usually indifferent to guests, immediately jumped onto her lap and purred like a tractor. \u2018Look, he likes you,\u2019 I smiled, pulling out some cookies. \u2018And he\u2019s picky, doesn\u2019t just go to anyone.\u2019\n

Sophie timidly petted the cat, and I noticed her shoulders relax a bit.
\n\u2018Sophie, how old are you?\u2019
\n\u2018Five\u2026 I think.\u2019 \u2018And do you know your last name? Or where you live?\u2019 She shook her head, and I felt a tightness inside. Something was very wrong here\n

That evening, I fed her soup and pies (thanks to my habit of baking in advance), put her to bed in my room, and settled myself on the sofa in the living room. I couldn\u2019t sleep all night\u2014I called the police, the administration of neighboring villages, but no one had reported a missing child.\n

$\"\"$ \n

A week passed, then another. Sophie slowly thawed, began to smile, especially when I read her fairy tales before bed. But she remembered nothing\u2014or didn\u2019t want to remember\u2014about how she ended up on the
\nroad. When the juvenile affairs ofcer shrugged her shoulders again, I realized\u2014I had to decide something. An orphanage? The very thought made me nauseous.\n

\u2018Sophie,\u2019 I called her one evening when she was drawing at the table, sticking out her tongue from diligence. \u2018Do you want to live with me?\n

Permanently?\u2019\n

She paused, gripping the pencil, then looked up:
\n\u2018Can I?\u2019
\n\u2018Yes. You\u2019ll be my daughter.\u2019
\n\u2018And can we keep Oliver too?\u2019
\nI laughed:
\n\u2018And Oliver too.\u2019\n

She got off the chair, walked over to me, and suddenly hugged me tightly. As I stroked her head, I thought\u2014come what may. We\u2019ll manage somehow. Then, of course, the visits to the authorities began, gathering documents, checks. But that\u2019s another story.I remember the rst day at school as if it were yesterday. Sophie clung to my hand as if they were leading her to a cage with tigers, not to the rst grade.\n

$\"\"$ \n

A new polka-dot dress, white bows, which I tried for an hour to make symmetrical\u2014everything as it should be. \u2018Mom, what if I can\u2019t do it?\u2019 she whispered as we approached the school. That \u2018mom\u2019 still resonated warmth somewhere deep in my heart. She first called me that a month ago when I was lying down with a fever of forty, and she brought me a cup of tea, spilling half along the way.\n

\u2018Of course, you can,\u2019 I squatted down in front of her, adjusting a bow. \u2018You are my smart girl.\u2019\n

\u2018What if they laugh?\u2019 she lowered her eyes.\n

I knew what she meant. In the village, everyone knows each other, and the story of the \u2018foundling\u2019 had already sprouted a dozen versions, each more ludicrous than the last.\n

\u2018You know what?\u2019 I pulled out a small notebook with kittens on the cover from my bag. \u2018Here, hold this. You\u2019ll write down all the interesting things youlearn there. And you\u2019ll tell me in the evening. Agreed?\u2019\n

She nodded, pressing the notebook to her chest, and we went on. The first months were tough. Sophie tried her hardest, but math was difficult for her. However, in drawing lessons, she was transformed\u2014the quiet girl was unrecognizable when she picked up pencils.\n

\u2018Tatiana Williams, could you stay for a minute?\u2019 Marina Peterson, the drawing teacher, called me after a parent meeting one day. I tensed\u2014teachers usually don\u2019t hold you back just like that.
\n\u2018Sophie has an amazing talent,\u2019 she pulled out an album. \u2018Look at this.\u2019\n

On the sheet was a landscape\u2014our street in autumn. But the way she saw it! Every leaf, every puddle reflecting the sky\u2026\n

\u2018We need to develop her talent. There\u2019s an art school in the district\u2026\u2019
\nI sighed. Art school means money. And with a library salary, we were barely making ends meet. \u2018I\u2019ll think about it,\u2019 I responded\n

That evening, as Sophie did her homework and I prepared dinner, there was a knock at the door. On the threshold stood Grandma Zina, our neighbor. \u2018Tan, here\u2026\u2019 she extended a bag. \u2018Apples were plentiful this year, the girl needs vitamins. And raspberry jam.\u2019\n

$\"\"$ \n

I was taken aback: \u2018But Zina Taylor, really\u2026\u2019 \u2018Take it, take it,\u2019 she waved her hand. \u2018And this\u2026 I sometimes do odd jobs, cleaning apartments in the city. If you want, I can recommend you. They pay decently.\u2019 That\u2019s how my \u2018black\u2019 weekends started\u2014twice a month, I\u2019d go to the city to clean. Sophie stayed with Grandma Zina, who taught her to bake pies and told her stories.\n

By the end of rst grade, we had saved enough for art school. True, it required two bus rides, but Sophie never complained. Problems started in middle school. Adolescence is tricky, and then there were those eternal questions about the past.\n

\u2018Why did they leave me?\u2019 she asked one evening as we drank tea. \u2018Was I bad?\u2019
\nMy heart clenched. \u2018Sophie, listen\u2026\u2019
\n\u2018No, you listen!\u2019 she jumped up, overturning the cup. \u2018All normal people know who their parents are! And I\u2026 I\u2019m nobody! A foundling!\u2019
\n\u2018Stop it!\u2019
\n\u2018What, does the truth hurt?\u2019 she stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door so hard that plaster fell.
\nOliver, aged and even more corpulent, scurried under the sofa. I didn\u2019t follow her\u2014I knew it was pointless. In such moments, it\u2019s better to let her cool down. I sat in the kitchen, mechanically wiping up the tea spill, thinking\u2014maybe I did something wrong? Maybe I should have then\u2026\n

The front door slammed. I jumped up\u2014it was almost ten at night. \u2018Sophie!\u2019 Silence in response.
\nThrowing on a jacket, I rushed outside. The rain drizzled, every other streetlight was out. Where could she have gone?
\nI ran down our street, then the next. I checked the playground\u2014empty. Horrible images spun in my head\u2014maniacs, accidents, dogs\u2026\n

$\"\"$ \n

She was found at the old cemetery\u2014sitting on a bench near Grandma Zina\u2019s grave, who had d!ed a year ago.
\n\u2018Sophie\u2026\u2019
\nShe lifted her head\u2014soaked, teeth chattering. \u2018I\u2019m sorry,\u2019 she whispered. \u2018I didn\u2019t mean to\u2026\u2019 I silently took off my jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and sat next to her. \u2018You know,\u2019 I said after a long silence, \u2018when I found you, I thought\u2014well, she\u2019ll stay a bit and leave. To an orphanage or to relatives, if they\u2019re found.\n

But then\u2026 then you started drawing those doodles on the wallpapers\u2026\u2019 \u2018They were unicorns!\u2019 she protested through tears. \u2018Yeah, especially that purple one, with three tails,\u2019 I smiled. \u2018And I realized\u2014I
\nwon\u2019t let you go. Because you\u2019re mine. Not by blood, but by heart. And I don\u2019t care who your real parents are. For me, the real one is you.\u2019 She buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed. We sat like that, probably
\nfor 10 minutes\u2014wet, frozen, but somehow\u2026 puried, I guess. \u2018Mom,\u2019 she said as we walked home. \u2018Can\u00a0 repaint my room? In purple?\u2019 \u2018The one with a violet shade or the one with a pinkish tint?\u2019
\n\u2018I don\u2019t know,\u2019 she shrugged. \u2018Let\u2019s try both?\u2019
\nThe following weekend we spent painting the walls. I still couldn\u2019t figure out which shade it ended up being, but Sophie was happy.\n

By the age of fteen, she already knew she wanted to be an artist. Her works regularly won at district contests, and one was even sent to a regional exhibition.\n

\u2018Mom, look!\u2019 she burst into the house, waving some paper. \u2018I\u2019ve been invited to a master class at the art school! In the city, for a whole week!\u2019 I felt a chill. A week in the city\u2014accommodation, food, materials\u2026\n

\u2018Great,\u2019 I forced a smile. \u2018When?\u2019 \u2018In a month!\u2019 she opped down on the sofa next to me. \u2018Imagine, there will
\nbe a real artist from New York! And they\u2019ll teach us to paint with oil!\u2019 That evening, I took out the stash\u2014a small part of what I had saved for her college fund. I counted it\u2014should be enough. We\u2019ll gure something out.\n

$\"\"$ \n

That week changed everything. Sophie came back different\u2014matured, with sparkling eyes and a rm intention to apply to the art school after ninth grade. \u2018But what about school?\u2019 I was bewildered.\n

\u2018I\u2019ll take external exams! The teacher said I have all the chances to get in on a budget. Can you imagine?\u2019 I could. I imagined her moving to the city, how I\u2019d stay alone in this house, every corner soaked with memories. How I\u2019d wait for her letters and her rare visits on weekends. \u2018Mom,\u2019 she sat next to me, taking my hand. \u2018I won\u2019t leave forever. I\u2019ll come every weekend. And then I\u2019ll return\u2014to set up an art studio for kids here.You\u2019ll see!\u2019\n

I looked at her\u2014not a child anymore, but not yet an adult. A stubborn chin, eyes that turn green when she\u2019s nervous. My girl. When did she grow up? \u2018Alright,\u2019 I said. \u2018But on one condition.\u2019
\n\u2018Which?\u2019\n

\u2018You\u2019ll send me all your works. I want to be the rst to see your masterpieces.\u2019 She laughed and hugged me tightly.\n

That evening, I couldn\u2019t sleep for a long time. I went out to the porch, sat on the old bench. Somewhere far away, dogs barked, and it smelled of ripe apples from Grandma Zina\u2019s former garden. Life is strangely arranged\u2014it goes on, follows its usual course, and then suddenly\u2014bang!\u2014and everything changes because of one encounter on the road, one decision, one moment\u2026\n

\u2018Mom, why aren\u2019t you sleeping?\u2019 Sophie came out, wrapped in a blanket. She sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. \u2018I was just thinking.\u2019
\n\u2018About what?\u2019
\n\u2018About how quickly you\u2019ve grown.\u2019 She was silent for a moment, then said: \u2018You know, sometimes I think\u2014what if you had walked past that day? Or if I had been somewhere else?\u2019
\n\u2018I don\u2019t know,\u2019 I hugged her shoulders. \u2018I guess it was meant to be.\u2019\n

We sat on the porch until dawn, making plans for the future and reminiscing about the past. In the morning, I started gathering documents for her external exams.
\nHer readiness for college became our common cause. I worked two jobs, she studied at night, preparing for exams. At times, it seemed we wouldn\u2019t make it, we\u2019d break. But we managed. She got in.\n

Time in the city changed Sophie. She spread her wings\u2014new friends, exhibitions, creative evenings. In the first year, she called every day, then less often, but always sent photos of her works. I printed them and hung them on the walls\u2014creating a whole gallery.\n

The house without her seemed unusually quiet. Even Oliver, who by then had turned into a real old man, wandered the rooms mournfully, as if looking for someone. ” Mom, just don\u2019t worry,\u2019 she said once over the phone. \u2018But I think I\u2019ve found a way to learn about my past.\u2019 Inside, everything in me froze.
\n\u2018What do you mean?\u2019
\n\u2018Remember that jacket I was wearing? Do you still have it?\u2019
\nOf course, I kept it. The little blue jacket lay in the back drawer of the dresser along with other keepsakes.
\n\u2018There\u2019s a tag in the lining with the name of a tailor shop. I found it\u2014it\u2019s still in business! Maybe they remember who ordered the jacket?\u2019 I was silent, not knowing what to say. On one hand, I understood her desire to know the truth. On the other\u2026
\n\u2018Mom? Are you there?\u2019
\n\u2018Yes, dear. Just\u2026 are you sure you want to know this?\u2019
\nShe was silent, then said softly: \u2018I need to close this door. Otherwise, it\u2019ll remain ajar.\u2019 I took out the jacket. It still smelled of mothballs and, strangely, apples\u2014 probably from being stored next to jars of jam in the dresser.
\nA week later, Sophie came home\u2014thin, with dark circles under her eyes. \u2018Well?\u2019 I asked, seating her at the table and pouring tea.
\n\u2018Nothing,\u2019 she shook her head. \u2018The shop changed owners, all the old order journals are gone. Dead end.\u2019 She suddenly burst into tears\u2014the rst time in many years.\n

\u2018You know what\u2019s funny? I don\u2019t even know what I wanted. Find them? Andthen what?\u2019
\nI hugged her, stroking her back: \u2018My dear\u2026\u2019
\n\u2018No, really,\u2019 she wiped her eyes. \u2018Imagine\u2014I had found them. And what?
\nWould I have said, \u00abHello, I\u2019m that same girl you left many years ago. How are you?\u00bb\u2018
\nShe bitterly smirked: \u2018And then I sat in the bus and thought\u2014it\u2019s they who lost, not me. They lost the chance to see how I grow, draw my rst pictures, get into school\u2026 And you\u2014you\u2019ve been there all along. You\u2019re the real mom, not the one who gave birth to me.\u2019\n

I was silent because I couldn\u2019t speak\u2014a lump in my throat got in the way. \u2018Remember the day you found me?\u2019 she suddenly asked. \u2018Of course.\u2019
\n\u2018I remember more than I said. I remember being taken out of the car, told to wait\u2026 I sat there almost a day until you came.\u2019
\nShe went to the window: \u2018You know what I realized? Sometimes people leave your life so that others\u2014 the real ones\u2014can appear.\u2019\n

Two years later, Sophie organized her rst personal exhibition. I came to the city, dressed up and excited, with a bouquet of wilddowers\u2014her favorites. The gallery was full of people. Fashionably dressed women, men in
\nexpensive suits, artists with beards\u2014all discussing my girl\u2019s paintings. And I walked from work to work, my heart ready to burst with pride. \u2018And here\u2019s the heroine of the day!\u2019 a voice called from behind.
\nI turned around\u2014a gray-haired man in a tweed jacket extended his hand: \u2018You\u2019re Sophia\u2019s mother, aren\u2019t you? I\u2019m her painting teacher. You know, your daughter has an amazing talent\u2014she sees the soul of things.\u2019
\n\u2018My daughter\u2019\u2014how wonderful that sounded!
\n\u2018Mom!\u2019 Sophie made her way through the crowd to me. \u2018Come on, I want to show you something.\u2019 She led me to a large painting at the back of the hall. I froze.\n

In the painting, I saw our old road\u2014the same one, broken, with tractor ruts. The huge oak we always called \u2018grandfather\u2019 spread its gnarled branches. And under it\u2014two figures: me, with shopping bags (God, she even
\nremembered my ridiculous green raincoat!), and tiny Sophie in that same blue jacket. We were holding hands, and around us, red leaves danced. And you know what\u2019s most amazing? From somewhere above, right through the gray clouds, a golden ray of light shone\u2014just like that day. I didn\u2019t even remember it, but she\u2026 she remembered. \u2018It\u2019s called \u00abThe Encounter,\u00bb\u2018 Sophie said softly. \u2018Do you like it?\u2019 I looked at the painting, and our whole life ashed before my eyes\u2014first steps, first joys and grievances, ups and downs, quarrels and reconciliations\u2026
\nTwenty-ve years that ickered by like one day. \u2018Thank you,\u2019 I whispered. \u2018It\u2019s to you, thank you,\u2019 she hugged me tightly. \u2018For everything.\u2019 That evening, we sat in her rental apartment, drinking tea with cake and talking about everything under the sun. On the wall hung a photo of Oliver \u2014he had passed away last winter, quietly and peacefully, in his sleep.\n

\u2018By the way,\u2019 Sophie suddenly bustled, \u2018I have news for you. Remember I talked about the art studio in our village?\u2019 I nodded.
\n\u2018Well, I applied for a grant. And\u2026,\u2019 she paused, \u2018they approved it! Can you believe it? Now we\u2019ll have our own studio!\u2019
\n\u2018In our village?\u2019 I couldn\u2019t believe it.
\n\u2018Why not?\u2019 she shrugged. \u2018Children grow up there too. And they also need art. Besides\u2026\u2019 she squinted slyly, \u2018someone has to look after you in your old age.\u2019
\n\u2018Ah, you!\u2019 I jokingly swung a towel at her. She dodged with a laugh: Just rst, we need to do some repairs on the house. The porch has really deteriorated\u2026\u2019
\n\u2018And the fence is leaning,\u2019 I chimed in.
\n\u2018And the garden has overgrown\u2026\u2019\n

We looked at each other and laughed. So many plans ahead, so much hope! And the painting \u2018The Encounter\u2019 now hangs in our living room. And every time I look at it, I think: how wonderfully life is arranged\u2014sometimes you just need to not walk by, to nd the most important thing.\u00bb\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sometimes, fate delivers such surprises that you spend your entire life marveling at how it all turned out. I still remember that chilly October day when I was returning from the market in the neighboring village. Back then, buses were rare, and I had to walk, cursing the broken road and the heavy bags of\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":114359,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"none","_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"","_seopress_robots_index":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[642],"tags":[818],"class_list":{"0":"post-114356","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-moral-story","8":"tag-moral-touching-stories"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/girl-on-street.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114356","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=114356"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114356\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":114365,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/114356\/revisions\/114365"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/114359"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=114356"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=114356"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lorevista.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=114356"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}