When I inherited my mother’s house, I expected memories, not mysteries. On the second night, strange noises led me to the attic, where I found a lived-in corner and a child’s teddy bear. Someone had been there. My unease grew when I discovered food missing and set a trap with bread and peanut butter. That night, I found a frightened boy, Alex, stealing food.
Alex, dirty and scared, begged not to be sent back. The next morning, John, my neighbor and Alex’s guardian, arrived angrily to take him away. Alex cried for help, clutching a porcelain rooster—a missing piece from my mother’s collection. Inside the figurine, I found a letter from my mother, revealing she had cared for Alex and uncovering John’s neglect. She asked me to protect him.
Determined, I gathered evidence from neighbors and contacted CPS. Alex was temporarily placed in my care, and over time, he began to open up. Months later, I gained permanent guardianship. On Alex’s seventh birthday, I gave him a new teddy bear. As he hugged me tightly, I felt my mother’s presence, proud of the family we had become.
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