But the car had already disappeared around a bend. The boy was alone in the middle of the forest, and the truth finally hit him: he had been tricked. There was no Aunt Susan. Brenda had just gotten rid of him, like a piece of trash.
“Brenda! Come back!” Leo shouted into the emptiness, but only the echo answered him.
Dusk was falling, and the first snowflakes began to drift down from the sky. The temperature was dropping noticeably. Leo decided the path had to lead somewhere. Maybe there really was a house, and Brenda hadn’t been lying completely. He dragged his suitcase further down the narrow trail between the trees.
The path wound between tree trunks, up and down small hills. Leo had been walking for half an hour, but there was no sign of human life. Just the darkening forest and the falling snow. Gradually, the path became less distinct, overgrown with brush and fallen branches, until it disappeared altogether.
Leo stopped, looking around in confusion. There was nothing but trees—all identical, all alien. The suitcase felt impossibly heavy. His hands were numb from the cold and the strain. Leo left the suitcase under a large pine tree and pulled out his phone. The screen flashed: “Battery 8%.” There was no signal, of course—they were far from the city.
It was completely dark now. The snow was falling thicker, and the temperature continued to drop. Leo understood the terrifying truth: he was lost in a winter forest with no food, no warm clothes, and no one knew where to find him. He knew he couldn’t panic—even at fourteen, he understood that. He needed to find shelter and build a fire.
Nearby, he spotted a large fallen pine log—it could offer some protection from the wind. The boy began gathering dry twigs and last year’s leaves. Luckily, there was less snow under the big pines, and he managed to find some dry material. From his jacket pocket, Leo pulled out a lighter—a birthday gift from a classmate. His hands were shaking from cold and fear, but he managed to get a fire going. Small flames licked at the kindling, illuminating a small space around the fallen tree. Leo carefully added more wood, trying to keep the fire from going out.
From his backpack, he took out the only food he had—an apple from the school cafeteria. He ate it slowly, in small bites, trying to make it last. He warmed his hands by the fire, feeling life slowly return to his frozen fingers.
Somewhere deep in the woods, a long howl echoed. Then another. Coyotes. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Leo’s spine; he’d heard enough stories about what happened to people who ran into a pack. The boy quickly threw more branches on the fire, and the flames leaped higher. The howling stopped.
“Maybe Dad really is dead,” Leo thought, staring into the dancing flames. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He remembered his mother: how she used to hug him before bed, read him stories, and tell him she would always protect him. Now his mom was gone, his dad was probably dead too, and he was completely alone in the world.
He was terrified to fall asleep, but exhaustion was taking over. Leo settled as close to the fire as he could, using his backpack as a pillow. He slept in short bursts, waking up every hour from the cold to add more wood to the fire. When he finally woke for good, he saw the fire had nearly died out, leaving only glowing embers. The lighter still worked, and he managed to relight it. His legs were stiff and his hands were numb, but it seemed he didn’t have frostbite—the fire had provided just enough warmth through the night.
The boy stood up and tried to get his bearings. Which way should he go? All the trees looked the same; there were no landmarks. He tried to find his tracks from yesterday, but they had been covered by the new snow.
“Help!” Leo screamed as loud as he could. “Is anyone out there?”
His voice echoed in the forest silence, but there was no reply. Only a distant crow cawed in response. Leo picked a direction at random and started walking.
An hour later, he tripped over a root hidden by the snow and fell face-first into a drift. The cold crystals went down his collar, and the boy felt his last bit of strength leave him. He lay in the snow, with no desire to get up.
“Maybe this is for the best,” Leo thought. “Just lie here and not think about anything anymore.”
But then, in the distance, he saw a thin column of smoke. It was faint against the gray winter clouds, but it was definitely coming from a chimney. That meant there was a house somewhere. There were people. Leo forced himself to get up. His legs sank into the snow up to his knees, and every step was a struggle, but he pushed on toward the smoke.
“Just a little further,” he told himself. “Just a little more, and everything will be okay.”
The smoke grew thicker, and finally, a small wooden cabin appeared between the trees. A warm yellow light glowed in the windows, and thick smoke poured from the chimney. The house was real, lived-in.
Leo staggered to the porch on his last legs. He knocked on the door with his numb hands—first quietly, then louder and more desperately. A few seconds later, the door swung open. On the threshold stood a middle-aged man with a kind but surprised face. He was wearing a warm plaid shirt and old jeans.
“My God, son!” the man exclaimed. “Get in here, quick! You’re freezing!”
The stranger didn’t ask any questions; he just grabbed Leo by the arms and pulled him inside. It was warm and cozy in the cabin. A wood stove was burning, and a steaming mug of tea sat on the table.
“Sit by the stove,” the man instructed, helping Leo into a soft armchair near the fire.
He pulled off the boy’s wet boots and socks and wrapped him in a thick wool blanket. Leo was shaking uncontrollably—from the cold, or from the shock, he couldn’t tell.
“What’s your name?” his rescuer asked gently.
“My name is Leo,” the boy answered through chattering teeth.
“I’m Mike.”
Mike brought him a mug of hot tea and a bowl of soup. But Leo’s hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t hold the spoon. So Mike sat beside him and fed him like a small child, carefully bringing the spoon to his mouth. The warm food and the peace of the cabin worked their magic. Leo felt exhaustion finally win. His eyes closed on their own.
“Sleep, kid,” Mike said quietly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Leo fell asleep right there in the armchair by the stove, feeling safe for the first time in two days.
Leo woke up in a strange bed under warm blankets that smelled of fresh linen. For a few seconds, he lay with his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of warmth. Then the memories came flooding back: the forest, the cold, the fear, and the kind man who had saved him.
The room was simple but cozy: varnished wood walls, old but sturdy furniture, a small window with a homespun curtain. On the wall hung photos of the forest in different seasons and an old cuckoo clock. Mike appeared in the doorway, holding a tray. On it was a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk, and a few sandwiches.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, setting the tray on the nightstand.
“Much better, thank you.” Leo tried to sit up and felt that his strength had mostly returned.
“You were out in that forest for almost two days,” Mike said, sitting on a chair next to the bed. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did. A little longer, and it would have been too late.”
Leo struggled to remember the last few hours; it was all a blur of cold, despair, the smoke from the chimney, and the warm hands of this man.
“I’m a park ranger,” Mike explained. “I live out here alone, look after the forest, and put out feed for the animals in the winter. Now, tell me: what’s your name? Where are your parents?”
Leo hesitated. He was scared to tell the whole truth. What if Mike kicked him out too?
“My name is Leo,” the boy began cautiously. “My parents… My mom died two years ago, and my dad…” He trailed off, not knowing how to explain. “My stepmom drove me out to the woods and said a relative lived here. But there was no one. And when I turned around, the car was already gone.”
Mike frowned. What kind of cruel person would do that to a child?
“And where’s your father?”
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