On that day, May 6, 2025, around midday, the usual chaos prevailed around the Népliget bus station in Budapest.
After the spring showers, traffic slowed down, impatient drivers honked their horns, and tourists stumbled with their luggage through the puddles. Pedestrians with umbrellas in hand tried to avoid the pools of water and not slip on the rain-slick pavement. Just then, the number 99 bus pulled into the stop, while in the distance a homeless man tried to wipe the rain from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.
But he wasn’t the one who drew attention that day.
At the center of it all stood a delicate little girl, around six years old, with a pale face, standing among the crowd with an orange backpack.
She was alone. Completely alone.
“Mama?” she whispered softly, barely audible. “Papa?”
Most passersby ignored her. Some glanced at her briefly but kept walking — some about their errands, others hurrying after a bus. One woman stopped for a moment, shook her head, and moved on.
The girl wasn’t crying. But her face… her face showed that she was no longer surprised when no one helped her.
Then Júlia Tordai appeared — an elegant but slightly weary woman in her fifties. She worked as a teacher in Zugló and had just returned to the Budapest bus station from a conference in the countryside. She was a bit annoyed because the bus had been delayed, her back ached, and her phone was dead.
But the moment she stepped off the bus, she noticed the girl right away.
“Hello… Are you okay?” she asked gently, bending down to look the girl in the eyes.
The girl just nodded. She didn’t move.
“Are you lost? Is someone waiting for you?”
“I think… I don’t know,” the girl whispered. “They said I should wait here.”
“Who said that?”
“The man. And the woman who was with him. They said they’d come back.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since the morning. They said they were going to the bakery.”
Júlia turned pale. Since the morning?! That was at least four hours ago. She looked around, but no one seemed to be looking for a child.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Matild.”
“And do you know your last name?”
“No… Mama told me, but I forgot it.”
“How old are you, Matild? Do you have anything with you? A note? A phone? Anything?”
Matild shook her head, but then pulled out her small backpack and took out a stuffed bunny and a half-soaked packet of cookies.
Júlia sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“You know what, Matild? Let’s go in there”—she pointed to the small police booth at the bus station—“and ask the officer for help, okay?”
“I’m not allowed to go with strangers,” the girl said softly.
“Then you’re in luck,” Júlia smiled. “I’m a teacher. I’m not a stranger. And I’m not alone, either.”
She then pulled out her business card, still tucked behind her conference badge.
“Here, that’s me. Now let’s go together and figure out where your parents are. How does that sound?”
Matild hesitated, then nodded.
Thus began a very special day in the heart of Budapest — a story no one had expected.
Least of all a seven-year-old girl and a tired but brave teacher.
The device wasn’t receiving power. The fluorescent lights flickered as a police officer greeted them; Németh Zoltán, along with Júlia, her friend, and little Matild, stepped inside.
“Good afternoon,” Júlia said firmly. “It’s not easy to explain, but it’s nothing new.”
Zoltán frowned, sensing that this might be more serious than it seemed at first.
“Is it serious?” he asked, pulling out his notebook.
“Very much so,” Júlia replied. “A little girl has been left alone since the morning. It doesn’t feel right.”
After getting all the information, Zoltán continued gently.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” he asked kindly.
“Matild.”
“Do you happen to know your full name?”
“I don’t know… maybe… maybe Márkus?”
Júlia blinked. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”
“I think so,” the girl whispered. “My mommy once said ‘Matild Márkus.’ That’s all I remember.”
Zoltán nodded and started typing.
“Alright. I’ll check the database for any missing person reports or related cases. Meanwhile, have her sit here — I’ll get her some tea.”
A few minutes later, he returned with a mug of lemon tea. Matild politely thanked him and began sipping it.
Júlia watched her anxiously.
“Isn’t it awful?” she whispered to Zoltán. “That someone would just abandon a child like this?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the officer nodded. “But it’s also possible something happened — an accident. Or…,” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t speculate.”
“I have a relative in the city center,” Matild suddenly spoke up. “My grandma, Aunt Mária. I don’t know where she lives. I just know she has a black cat, and she always says: ‘Don’t jump on me suddenly, Matildka!’”
Zoltán smiled faintly.
“That’s something. We’ll see what we can find. I’ll also call child protective services, but let’s hope she won’t have to stay here for hours.”
“Can I take her with me for a bit?” Júlia asked. “Just until something turns up. I’m a teacher, and I have a clean record.”
Zoltán hesitated, then finally nodded.
“Alright. I’ll write down your information and issue a temporary guardianship form. But if anything suspicious happens, call us immediately.”
Júlia and Matild left the station. The rain had stopped, and the city had quieted a little. Matild sat silently, kicking her legs as she sat on a chair at Júlia’s home.
“What are you most afraid of?” she asked while swinging gently.
“We’ll figure it out together,” Júlia replied. “Tomorrow, we’ll drop by a school so they can take a look at you. Maybe someone will come forward.”
“Will they find me?”
Júlia smiled.
“Then we’ll look together. That’s how it should be.”
Matild nodded. For the first time, something flickered in her eyes: trust.
Just then, the phone rang.
“Yes? Tordai Júlia speaking. Excuse me? Ah… me?! What did the woman say who came into the police station?”
Júlia turned pale and looked at Matild.
“Matild, someone claims to be your mother.”
The little girl narrowed her eyes. There was a new sharpness in her face.
“That’s not her. She’s… she’s the lady who was with the man who brought me here. Please… don’t let them take me. Please.”
Júlia knelt down beside her.
“Matild, are you sure about what you’re saying?” she asked gently. “This is really important. I need to be sure before I speak to them.”
Matild shook her head.
“She’s not my mom! I mean, she took the phone from a woman once when I was talking. That woman told me to take care of myself. Then the other woman took the phone and said not to talk anymore.”
A lump rose in Júlia’s throat. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She immediately called Officer Németh back at the station.
“Zoltán, are you there? Did you speak to the woman who claims to be Matild’s mother?”
“Yes, and something’s off. We checked the central registry — she’s not listed as having a child. She’s referring to a former partner, who’s actually wanted for fraud.”
“Then please, don’t let her go! Matild knew it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve already initiated the procedure. Child services are on the way. And there’s another development… a woman from District XVII came in. Elderly. She says she’s Matild’s grandmother. She described her perfectly, even mentioned the bunny toy.”
“Márkus Mária?” Júlia asked quickly.
“Exactly. Why?”
Júlia smiled. “Matild remembered the black cat.”
An hour later, there was a knock on Júlia’s door. An older woman stood there, her coat soaked from the rain, her face trembling with emotion.
“Good evening. I’m Mária Márkus. Matild… Matild is my granddaughter.” Her voice cracked. “My daughter… her mother… disappeared two years ago. The police said she went abroad. We feared the worst… I thought… I thought the child was lost forever.”
Júlia stepped aside.
“She’s here. Matild is drawing in the living room.”
Mária entered. In the living room, Matild was sitting at the table, coloring. She looked up, eyes wide. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Mária took a trembling step forward and reached into her bag.
She pulled out a familiar stuffed bunny.
“Do you remember this?”
Mária held out the stuffed bunny.
Matild ran over and threw her arms around the woman.
“You are my real grandma. Aunt Mária.”
Tears welled up in the old woman’s eyes. She hugged the little girl tightly, not wanting to let go. Márkus Mária had finally found Matild, and Matild had found safety. Júlia quietly stepped out of the room to give them space.
That night, a girl who had just turned seven was no longer alone in the world. And a teacher who was simply on her way home had changed a life forever.
Later, Matild approached Júlia shyly, already in her pajamas:
“Hi, Miss Júlia! I wanted to ask… could I come to your school tomorrow? I think I’d like that.
Júlia smiled, eyes misty again, and nodded:
“Of course, Matildka. There will always be a place for you in my class.
And that — was just the beginning.
