Helen, a nurturing foster mother, had spent over ten years caring for children in need. Each child brought their unique story, and Helen dedicated herself to helping them find a loving home.
She believed deeply in the happiness every child deserved, even in times when reality tested her resolve.
Not every child found a family right away. Some transitioned from home to home, never quite feeling like they belonged. Mark was one of these children, a twelve-year-old boy who carried a quiet sadness.
Helen had been Mark’s caretaker longer than she had anticipated. Older children weren’t often adopted quickly; families typically favored younger kids.
However, Mark was different. He was solitary, choosing not to join in games or share his thoughts openly with others.
He spent his time alone, engrossed in a chessboard Helen had gifted him. Hours would pass with him playing against himself or occasionally challenging Helen to a game.
One afternoon, Helen found Mark in his usual spot in the living room, focused entirely on the chess pieces.
His intense concentration suggested the world beyond those black and white squares ceased to exist. Helen quietly approached him, a gentle smile on her face.
“Hi, Mark, how are you today?” she asked softly.
Mark nodded slightly without lifting his eyes. “Fine,” came his subdued response. After a pause, he added, “Will you play with me?”
Helen obliged with a warm smile. “Of course, I’d love to.” She settled into a chair opposite him as Mark arranged the pieces with practiced skill, his eyes fixed on the board.
Helen matched his moves, trying to inject a subtle challenge into the game. But Mark anticipated her every move with ease.
“Checkmate, I won,” he stated flatly, although Helen caught a glimpse of satisfaction in his eyes.
Helen chuckled, acknowledging her defeat. “Yes, you did. You have a real knack for this, you know?”
Mark simply shrugged. “It’s easy when you always play the same way.”
“Mark,” Helen gently corrected him, “we’ve discussed this—it’s not very kind to say such things.”
“But it’s true,” he persisted, his expression unchanged.
“True, perhaps, but sometimes softer words are nicer to use,” she suggested, her tone soothing.
“Why?” he questioned, finally meeting her gaze with genuine curiosity.
“Well, it just is,” Helen replied with a chuckle, deciding to let it drop.
A momentary silence followed before Mark leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Helen, can I ask you a favor?”
Helen, intrigued, nodded encouragingly.
“Of course, Mark. What’s on your mind?”
