I have a son with mild autism, and I’ve always embraced his unique way of seeing the world. His imagination and creativity never cease to amaze me. One day, he showed me drawings of himself and another boy who looked exactly like him. He called this boy his twin, Arthur.

“Mom, Arthur visits me at school every day,” he said with a smile, his eyes shining with excitement.

I smiled and nodded, though I was skeptical. Arthur seemed like an imaginary friend, a comforting presence for my son. However, his insistence piqued my curiosity. Deciding to see for myself, I arranged to pick him up early from school one day.

As I approached the playground, I scanned the area for my son. And then, my heart skipped a beat. There was a boy, dirty and wearing tattered clothes, who looked identical to my son. He was sitting alone, eating my son’s lunch.

My mind raced as I watched them. Who was this boy? How could he look so much like my son? I decided to follow him discreetly, hoping to get some answers. The boy walked through the neighborhood, occasionally glancing around nervously.

He led me to an old, dilapidated house on the outskirts of town. It looked abandoned, with broken windows and an overgrown yard. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized I recognized the house. It was my late grandmother’s house, the one we thought had been empty for years.

Gathering my courage, I approached the front door and knocked. The door creaked open slightly, revealing the boy standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with fear.

“Hi there,” I said gently. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Sarah. What’s your name?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “Arthur.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Arthur, how long have you been living here?”

“Since… since my mom left,” he replied, his voice trembling. “She said she’d come back, but she never did.”

My heart broke for this little boy. He was alone, surviving on his own in this rundown house. I couldn’t leave him there.

“Arthur, would you like to come with me?” I asked softly. “I can take care of you.”

He looked at me, hope flickering in his eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” I promised. “You and my son can be together. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Arthur nodded, and I took his hand, leading him back to my car. When we arrived home, my son ran to greet us, his face lighting up with joy when he saw Arthur.

“Arthur! You came!” he exclaimed, hugging his twin tightly.

From that day on, Arthur became a part of our family. We discovered that his mother had abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself. We worked with social services to ensure he had a safe and loving home with us.

Arthur and my son grew up together, their bond unbreakable. Though they were not related by blood, they were brothers in every sense of the word. My son taught Arthur to see the world through his eyes, while Arthur taught my son about resilience and survival.

Years later, as I watched them graduate from high school together, I knew that finding Arthur had been a miracle. Our family was complete, and our hearts were full.