Sam’s voice grew tense. “She never said exactly who. She would just look at me and get sad. One time I asked her directly, and she said, ‘Like a good man, son. But he’s not in our lives anymore.’”
“And she used to cry sometimes when she looked at my hands. She’d say they were going to be strong, working hands just like his.” Sam instinctively looked down at his own large, calloused palms. “And once, when I was helping a neighbor fix a fence, Mom said, ‘You’re a natural craftsman, just like someone I used to know.’”
Sam asked carefully, trying to keep his voice steady, “Would you want to know the whole truth? About who your real father is?” Leo gave a bitter laugh. “We know who he is. The one who left us in the woods.”
“He’s mine and Ellie’s dad. He just decided he didn’t need us. What other truth is there? He betrayed us, left us to die. That’s the whole truth about our father.” Leo clenched his fists. “Mom loved him, and he… he never even visited her grave.”
“There’s no such thing as bad truth, son,” Sam said softly, gently putting an arm around the tense boy. “But sometimes the truth isn’t what it seems.” The boy asked unexpectedly, “Did you ever want a son?”
Sam hugged Leo tightly. “I dreamed of it my whole life. And now I have you and little Ellie. It doesn’t matter who your biological parents are.” Leo leaned against the old man’s warm side. “What if our real dad suddenly shows up?”
Sam answered firmly, “A real father is the one who loves you and never leaves you. Not the one who just gave you life.” They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the night. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the county seat,” Sam said. “We’ll find the sheriff, tell him about you. Maybe we can find your relatives on your mother’s side.”
Leo was scared. “What if no one wants to take us?” — “Then I’ll try to get legal guardianship,” Sam promised. Leo hugged the old man. “Mr. Sam, you’re a very good person. If all dads were like you…” — “Then no child would ever have to suffer,” Sam finished.
Ellie stirred by the stove, stretched in her sleep, and opened her eyes. She saw Leo on Sam’s bed. “Leo, what are you doing? Why aren’t you sleeping?” — “We’re talking with Mr. Sam about important things.”
Ellie got up and ran to them barefoot. “Is Mr. Sam going to stay with us forever? He won’t leave like Dad did, will he?” Sam stroked her messy hair. “If you want me to, little one, I’m not going anywhere.” — “We want you to!” the children answered in unison.
Sam rose from the bed with difficulty, his back aching and joints creaking. He started making breakfast: he built up the fire in the stove, put a cast-iron pot of milk on, added a scoop of oatmeal and a pinch of salt. The cabin slowly filled with the smell of a home-cooked meal, of comfort.
“Oatmeal with butter,” he announced, stirring the thickening porridge. Ellie clapped her hands in delight. “Just like Mom used to make! She made the best oatmeal in the morning. And she’d add honey when we were sick,” Leo added.
Sam froze, spoon in hand, then smiled sadly. “So she remembered. I taught her that.” He ladled the hot oatmeal into clay bowls and placed a jar of honey on the table.
Leo watched the old man’s every move, feeling that he was still hiding something very important. “Mr. Sam,” he asked between spoonfuls of oatmeal, “are you sure you don’t know who our real dad is?”
Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, silent for a second, then answered slowly, “I don’t know for sure, son.” But Leo heard the uncertainty and tremor in his voice.
“The oatmeal’s getting cold,” Sam said quickly. “Eat up, kids. We have a long walk to town today.” Ellie dug into her breakfast with gusto, dipping her toast in honey, while Leo ate slowly, constantly glancing at Sam, who nervously avoided his direct gaze and busied himself with the dishes.
Sam packed an old canvas backpack, darkened by time and rain. He put in the rest of a loaf of dark bread, a piece of jerky, and a bottle of spring water. From an old trunk, he pulled out two warm jackets—large, men’s jackets, but well-made.
One was dark green, military-style, the other a brown work jacket. “Bundle up,” he told the children. “It’s a long walk, and it’ll be cold in the woods.” The jackets were huge on them: Leo’s sleeves hung down to his knees, and Ellie’s nearly touched the floor.
“We’ll roll up the sleeves,” Sam said, carefully folding the fabric. Ellie clutched her teddy bear, not letting go for a second. “He’s coming with us. Mr. Bear has to be with us.”
Sam gave the worn toy a strange look. His eyes flickered, and his hand instinctively reached for the bear, but he stopped himself. “Of course, he’s coming. He’s your good luck charm. Your protector.”
Leo watched the old man closely and noticed his hands were shaking as he buckled the backpack straps. “Mr. Sam, are you not feeling well?” the boy asked with concern. “I’m fine, Leo. Just a little worried.”
They left the cabin, and Sam latched the door and led the children down a barely visible path that wound between tall pines. “See that? Bear tracks,” Sam said, pointing to some flattened grass. “And those are from a deer.”
Ellie walked between the two of them, holding both their hands. “Mr. Sam, do you have any kids of your own?” she asked unexpectedly. Sam stopped in his tracks. “No, little one.”
“Did you want any?” A long pause. The wind rustled in the treetops, and a crow cawed in the distance. “More than anything,” Sam answered quietly. “Dreamed of having kids my whole life.”
They walked another half-mile down the winding path and stopped at a small stream. The water was clear and cold, gurgling cheerfully over the rocks. Ellie knelt down to wash her face and hands, while Leo filled the bottle with fresh water.
Two gray wolves approached the stream silently: an old one with graying fur on its muzzle, and a younger, leaner one. Ellie cried out in fear, and Leo grabbed a thick stick. “Easy now,” Sam said quietly. “Hello, brothers. How are things?”
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