**The Adopted Brother**
“Give him back! Stop! You’re hurting him!” Sophie screamed, tears streaming down her face as she pounded uselessly against the boy who had snatched her kitten. He only laughed, tightening his grip on the tiny, fragile body. Desperate, Sophie sank her teeth into his arm—only to be shoved aside, pain exploding through her mouth as the coppery taste of blood filled it. Something warm trickled down her chin. When she wiped her face, her palm came away red. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed with everything she had.
“Help!…”
To her shock, someone answered. The boy yelped, and Sophie forced her eyes open just in time to see him stumble backward in his filthy trainers. He landed hard, his voice losing its earlier swagger as he shouted, “What the hell? Are you mental?”
“Shut your trap and clear off!” snapped a new voice, calm but edged with steel. “If I catch you near her again, you’ll answer to me. Got it?”
Sophie twisted to see who’d spoken. Another boy—older, lanky, with a face set in cold fury. Was he helping her? Or was this just more trouble? Her gaze darted until she found it—the kitten lay limp on the pavement. Heart hammering, she dragged herself forward, brushing trembling fingers over its side. It was breathing. She scooped it up, clutching it to her chest. She needed to run—get to Gran. But her legs wouldn’t move.
“Oi, you alright? Blimey, he really did a number on you.” The older boy crouched beside her, studying her face. “Bit your lip, eh? Can you stand?”
Sophie shook her head. The adrenaline drained away, leaving her shaking. She burst into tears all over again.
“Hey—don’t. He’s gone. Won’t touch you again, not while I’m around. What’s that you’ve got?”
His rough hand reached for the kitten, but Sophie flinched away, wailing.
“Alright, alright! Not touching!”
Sophie tried to steady herself, but panic still clawed at her throat. She never should’ve gone out without Gran. She’d begged—insisted she was old enough, nearly seven now, practically grown-up compared to the other kids who played unsupervised.
“Sophie, love, I’ve got to be walked too,” Gran had chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You play, I’ll chat with the ladies. What’s the harm?”
“But everyone knows you’re watching me!”
“Where’s the crime in that?”
“I want to go alone!”
Gran had sighed, amused. Just like her dad’s stubbornness—except he’d been a boy, and Sophie? Well, she was softer. More breakable.
“Ask your mum, then.”
Sophie had groaned. Mum was strict—a surgeon at the Royal London, where rules couldn’t bend. If she said no, that was final. But Gran was right—Sophie hadn’t even asked.
To her shock, Mum agreed. “Prove you’re responsible first. Promise you’ll stay in the yard where Gran can see you from the window.”
“Not even the swings next door?”
“Sophie. Where are those swings?”
“In the next estate…”
“And what did I just say?”
Sophie had nodded, thrilled—until she broke that promise within minutes. First, it was just skipping ropes with Emily from Flat 35. Then Emily wanted the swings.
“I can’t,” Sophie mumbled, eyeing her flat’s windows. No sign of Gran, but that meant nothing.
“Suit yourself!” Emily huffed. “We’ll be quick—she won’t even notice!”
Sophie bit her lip. If Mum found out…
She glanced once more at the empty window—then sprinted after Emily.
Twenty minutes later, swinging until her head spun, they trudged back—only to spot the kitten sprawled on the pavement near the next estate’s tower block. No mother cat in sight. They searched the bushes, calling, but nothing.
“He’s tiny,” Emily whispered as Sophie cradled the weakly mewling thing. “Eyes barely open. He’ll die without his mum.”
“How d’you know?”
“We had a cat. Mum explained. We gave her to Nan, though—got Tutty instead.”
“Who?”
“His full name’s Tutankhamun. Hard to say. Like that pharaoh.”
Sophie blinked.
“Ancient king,” Emily giggled. “Egypt. They worshipped cats. Tutty looks like one—bald.”
“Completely?”
“Nah, just short fur. Wrinkly, though. Proper ugly—Mum jumps sometimes!”
Sophie hesitated, then held the kitten out. “You know what to do.”
Emily shook her head. “Tutty’d bully him.”
Before they could decide, Emily’s mum called her away. Sophie rushed toward home—until a mocking voice froze her in her tracks.
“Look what the kiddie’s got.”
Then the kitten was ripped from her hands.
The rest was a blur.
Now, the older boy sighed. “Come on. Up you get.” He plucked a leaf from a nearby bush, dabbing gently at Sophie’s chin. “Cor, you’re a sight. Gran’ll have a fit.”
“I’m fine,” Sophie sniffed.
“Right.” He glanced toward the block of flats. “Better get you home.”
Gran was waiting by the entrance. “Sophie! Look at the state of you!”
“Don’t be cross! Look—he’s alive, but he’s poorly!” Sophie thrust the kitten forward.
Gran’s gaze flicked to the boy. “Who’s this?”
“He saved me! Proper fought for us!”
Gran softened. “Well then. What’s your name, lad?”
“Max.”
“Claudia Harris. Pleased to meet you. Fancy a cuppa?”
Max shook his head. “Best be off.”
“Another time, then. Thank you—for Sophie and this little scrap.” She lifted the kitten by its scruff, making Sophie gasp.
“Gran! You’re hurting him!”
“Not a bit,” Max said. “Mum cats carry ’em like that. He’s fine.”
Sophie blinked up at him—then, hesitantly, took Max’s hand.
The walk home was quiet until Gran muttered, “Your mum’ll have words.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped.
That evening, Mum didn’t shout. But the quiet talk was worse. “What if something worse had happened? I can’t focus at work if I’m worrying you’ll ignore rules.”
Sophie swallowed back tears. “I’m sorry.”
Mum relented—but the kitten was the only reason she didn’t ban outdoor play entirely.
The next day, Sophie found Max by the benches.
“Thank you,” she blurted. “Forgot yesterday.”
He shrugged.
“You’re sad,” she observed.
“Not your business.”
Sophie studied him. Then—impulsively—”D’you wanna be family?”
Max stiffened. “What?”
“Like in stories. Sworn brother and sister. Not by blood, but… we choose it.”
Sophie braced for rejection—but Max crouched to her level, eyes bright. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
From then on, they were inseparable. Max confessed things he’d never told anyone—his gran’s illness, his mum’s neglect, the nights the flat echoed with shouting.
And Sophie? She told her mum everything.
Within days, Mum—Elena—visited Max’s gran. The flat was grim, but the old woman’s kindness shone through. “I’ll find a surgeon,” Elena promised.
The operation succeeded. Slowly, life improved. Max’s mum even remarried—a decent bloke who sent money, though he kept his distance.
Years passed. Max, fueled by Elena’s coaching, clawed his way into the Royal Military Academy.
Now, under a pale London sky, Sophie barreled into him at his graduation. “Max! You did it!”
Laughing, he spun her around. “Course I did.”
Elena and his girlfriend, Kate, watched fondly.
Sophie grinned. “Knew you’d save the world.”
“Nah,” Max ruffled her hair. “Just returning the favour.”
Hand in hand, they ran toward the others—toward whatever came next.
