**Diary Entry**
I was lonely and broken. But one chance encounter changed my life forever.
I was thirty-three. Fifteen years had passed since school, yet life had brought me no happiness, no family, no stability. No wife, no children, not even a proper job. Temp work, rented flats, and exhaustion had become my routine. My soul felt hollow. I had disappeared even to myself.
When old classmates began organizing a school reunion, I wasn’t in the mood for celebrations. Then, as if to seal my misery, I was laid off just two days before. No job, no worth.
I decided not to go. But my old friend James wouldn’t let me give in.
«Andrew, you *have* to come! At least see how much the rest of us have aged!» he laughed over the phone.
In the end, he even fetched me, shoved a clean shirt into my hands, and dragged me along. I went—reluctant, my chest heavy.
The restaurant was loud. Glitter, laughter, suits, polished hairstyles, photos of children, husbands, cottages, and cars. My classmates seemed to compete over who’d done best. And there I stood, awkward, sipping wine in small gulps. I felt like an outsider among my own.
After an hour, I needed air. Stepping into the courtyard, the quiet and darkness wrapped around me. I slumped onto a bench, closing my eyes—then heard a quiet sniffle.
A little boy sat on the steps. Five or six, tears streaking his face, his knee scraped.
«What happened?» I asked softly.
«They took my bike… Older boys…» He hiccuped. «Mum’ll be cross. She told me not to go anywhere…»
His name was Thomas. He’d sneaked away from his gran, taken his brand-new birthday bike, and tried riding to his mum—who worked *here*, at this very restaurant.
«She’s a waitress,» he mumbled. «I missed her.»
I took his hand. «Let’s find her. You shouldn’t be out here alone.»
Inside, I asked the manager to call for waitress Emily. Then she appeared—petite, hair tousled, apron wrinkled, panic in her eyes. Spotting Thomas, she crushed him to her chest and wept, right there in front of everyone. And in that moment, I saw more than just a mother’s fear.
«You found him?» she whispered to me. «I was out of my mind—»
«Just heard him crying. I was here for the reunion… Guess I was in the right place.»
«Thank you. You *cared*,» she said softly. Then she smiled—genuine, through tears.
I turned to leave, but Thomas grabbed my sleeve: «Will you come back?»
He rooted me to the spot. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to run. I wanted to *stay*. Emily scribbled her number on a napkin.
«If you’d like—come for coffee.»
I texted her the next day. Visited the day after. We talked for hours. She’d been widowed two years earlier; her husband died in a crash. Raising Thomas alone, working tirelessly, yet never surrendering.
She wasn’t pretending. Not flaunting success. Just *living*—tired, real. And it was enough.
Seven years on, we’re married. Thomas calls me Dad. We have a daughter now. I’ve steady work—thanks to the restaurant owner I met that night. We’ve built a life—simple, unglamorous, but warm. *True*.
I know this now: Even at rock bottom, don’t ignore the voice that whispers, *»Try once more.»* Because that’s when someone might lead you out of the dark—by the hand. Like I did for Thomas.