Then, quietly and without a sound, she closed the bus door and walked away. Matthew came back home that evening after a long day of hard labor at the construction site. His shirt clung to his body, soaked in sweat and dust. His trousers were even more tattered than the day before, and his face looked drained, sunburned, tired, and dusty.
But still, he had his baby strapped to his chest, held tightly with the same piece of cloth he always used like a sling, he walked with slow, heavy steps, but his eyes never left the babies. He pushed open the creaky metal door of the abandoned bus they called home and stopped. His eyes widened. He stood frozen.
There in the corner of the bus was a bag, a cooler, diapers, baby milk, custard, a white envelope. His jaw dropped as he stepped closer, blinking as if he was dreaming. He placed the babies gently on the blanket and reached for the bag with trembling hands. He opened it carefully, still half in disbelief.
The rich aroma of food filled the entire bus in seconds. He opened the first cooler. Fried rice and chicken still warm. His heart beat faster. He quickly opened the second homemade soup and stew. The smell made his stomach growl painfully. Then he saw the note. He picked up the small piece of paper and read Emily’s handwriting.
Don’t fail to call me whenever you need anything. and beside it, her phone number. His hands trembled more as he opened the envelope. Inside was an appointment letter for a pediatrician already paid for. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back. No time to cry. He reached for the plate, scooped some of the food from the cooler, and gently woke his babies. “Wake up, Paul.
Silas food don’t come,” he whispered softly. With shaky hands, he fed them. One spoon at a time, gently, lovingly, just like always, they ate and they were filled. For the first time in a long, long time, they ate until they were full. And for the first time in years, Matthew ate to his satisfaction.
When he finished, he didn’t waste a second. He cleaned his hands, wrapped the babies again on his chest, picked up the appointment letter, and rushed out. at the hospital reception. He held out the white envelope. The receptionist frowned at his appearance at first, but took the letter, read it, and her tone changed. She led him to the pediatric wing.
Inside the doctor’s office, Matthew sat nervously, gently bouncing the twins in his arms. The doctor, a kind-faced woman, examined both babies carefully. She checked their weight, their temperature, their breathing, and their bones. Then she smiled. “They are okay,” she said gently. “Healthy, but they’re slightly malnourished.” Matthew nodded.
“I know things are hard,” the doctor added. “But try your best to feed them well. Children need the right food at this age.” Matthew looked at her grateful and replied softly. “I’ll do my best, Ma.” The doctor gave him a gentle look of pity and admiration. God will help you,” she said with a warm smile. “Amen,” Matthew replied.
He stood, strapped his baby’s back onto his chest, thanked the doctor again, and left the office. Then one evening, as October’s cold breeze began to creep into the old bus through the broken windows, the missing glasses, and the poorly covered doors, disaster struck. Paul, the quieter of the twins, had been shivering all through the afternoon.
He refused to eat. His forehead was warm. By nightfall, he was burning up with fever. Matthew had tried everything. He dipped small pieces of rag into cold water and gently wiped his son’s body, hoping to reduce the heat. He whispered lullabibies in a trembling voice, rocking the baby back and forth in the backseat of the bus. “Shh, daddy’s here.
