#freak2fr

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I was only 10, living in my fourth foster home that year, when it happened. I was walking home from school alone—my foster parents were working late, and nobody else cared much about how I got there. I stopped by a small corner shop to get out of the cold and maybe warm up with a free sample they sometimes had near the door. That’s when a guy around 17 or 18 came up to me.

“Hey, can I get your number?” he said with a smile, like this was something totally normal. I looked at him, completely confused. “I don’t have a phone,” I replied honestly. He blinked, clearly surprised. “Really? I got mine when I was like, 12.” I laughed a little, trying to brush it off, and said, “Maybe I’ll get one in two years then.” That’s when it clicked for him. He stared at me for a second and said, “Wait… how old are you?” I told him. “Ten.”

The look on his face changed instantly. He looked stunned, embarrassed, and kind of horrified. He stepped back a little and muttered, “I’m so sorry. I thought you were at least fifteen.” I could tell he genuinely didn’t mean anything wrong. I wasn’t dressed like a teenager or anything, but foster care makes you grow up fast—maybe I just acted older than I was.

He could’ve walked away and forgotten about me, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed and talked to me. We ended up walking the same direction, and I told him a little about my life—not too much, just enough to explain why a 10-year-old was walking home alone from school every day. I could tell something shifted in him. From that day on, he started showing up near the bus stop after school, just to walk me home.

At first, I thought it was weird, but after a few days, it became the one part of my day I actually looked forward to. He never made it feel like I was a burden. He talked to me like I mattered. He’d ask how my day was, tell me silly stories from his own school life, and even carry my heavy bag when I was too tired. He told me his name was Jason, and he lived just a few streets away. It turned out there were a lot of not-so-safe people living near my foster home. I didn’t know that back then, but Jason did. He never told me directly, but I found out later that he started walking me home because he didn’t trust the area I was in.

One day, I told him I had a huge math test coming up, and I couldn’t figure out fractions no matter how hard I tried. The next day, he showed up with worksheets he’d printed at the library. We sat outside a coffee shop, and he spent an hour going over everything with me. That was the first time I ever passed a math test. When I told him, he looked genuinely proud.

Then came the day he showed up with a small box. “It’s nothing fancy,” he said, “but I upgraded, and I thought maybe you could use this.” Inside was his old phone, cleaned up and ready to use. I stared at it for a long time. No one had ever given me something that felt like it was just for me. My foster parents didn’t buy me things. I didn’t even know what it felt like to be thought of like that.

Jason never treated me like a project or someone to feel sorry for. He treated me like a little sister he just hadn’t met until now. He never crossed any lines. He never made me feel uncomfortable. He just showed up, every day, because he wanted to. I never asked him to. He just knew I needed someone.

Years passed. I was moved to a new foster home across the city, and for a while, we lost touch. But when I turned 18 and got my own phone plan, the first number I saved was his. I sent him a message. “It’s me. The 10-year-old you used to walk home.” He responded instantly: “About time. I’ve been waiting for this text for years.”

Now, I’m 25. Jason is married to an amazing woman, and I was the one who gave a speech at his wedding. I stood there, smiling through tears, and said, “This man once tried to hit on a 10-year-old. But instead of walking away, he became her hero.” Everyone laughed, but we both knew the truth. That moment, awkward as it was, changed my life. I really wanted to marry him, but I guess it's too late now.