“Miranda, there are still good people in this world. As soon as I arrived, two young men saw I was lost and immediately offered to help me find my way. I’m really grateful to them,” Bert said with a relieved smile.
Miranda gently reminded him, “Uncle Bert, I go by Miranda now.”
“Oh, right, Miranda. I’ll remember that,” Bert said, tapping his forehead. “Getting old, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
Bert, though just fifty years old, looked much older, the wear and tear of life showing clearly in his features. Years of hardship had taken their toll on him, making him appear far older than his years. He had spent over twenty years abroad, searching for the man who had wronged his sister, and upon returning, had devoted himself to caring for William. His entire life had been a series of burdens, leaving little room for anything else.
Miranda felt a pang of sadness and linked arms with him. “You’re not old at all, Uncle Bert. Don’t say that.”