Elliot Costello’s life was drastically altered in a way he never would have imagined in 2013 after traveling to an orphanage in Cambodia.
He was unaware, though, that a meeting would occur that would alter thousands of other people’s lives as well.
It all began in 2013 when Australian social entrepreneur Elliot Costello got to know a young child named Thea.
The 10-year-old girl, Thea, had been saved from a horrible situation, but regrettably, she had wound up in an orphanage. She had been sexually and physically abused for two years, and the torture had a lasting effect. Regretfully, if Elliot hadn’t existed, we might never have learned about this courageous young girl.
However, let’s start at the beginning.
Thea’s life was happy once she was born. The Cambodian girl was loved and cared for by her mother, father, and other family members just like any other child. Unfortunately, fate had other ideas for her. Her father unexpectedly passed away one day, and his loss was tragic in many ways. Not only had it been a painful and emotional experience, but Thea’s father had been the only provider for the family. The family was left in dire straits after his death.
When things became so awful for Thea, her mother had to make the painful choice to place her daughter in an orphanage since she was no longer able to care for her. Sadly, the little girl would end up spending a miserable life there.
The director of the orphanage allegedly sexually and physically abused Thea every day for two years, according to Polished Man.
Thea was eventually moved to another Hagar International-run orphanage in Phnom Penh. Australian social entrepreneur Elliot Costello became close to the boy during a visit there by playing games of naughts and crosses. The 10-year-old child, in spite of everything she had experienced, exuded happiness and optimism.
Thea used to constantly have nail polish on her tiny nails, so one day she wanted to paint Elliot’s. They had a great time together as they sat and chatted.
“I promised her that I would always remember her and her suffering,” Elliot remarked as she painted one of his nails
Elliot was inspired to try and modify men’s behavior after meeting with Thea in order to reduce the number of children who experience sexual abuse. In order to demonstrate support, he also came up with the idea to launch a trend where males paint their nails.
Another symbolic interpretation of painting one nail is that it stands for the one in five children who may experience sexual abuse. It is immediately clear from looking at the numbers that we must put in a lot of effort to solve this problem.
Nearly 70% of all reported sexual assaults involve minors who are 17 years of age or younger, according to the YMCA. Unbelievably, one in six boys and one in four girls will experience sexual abuse before they become 18 years old.
Elliot believes that since men account for over 90% of this kind of abuse against children, they should be the ones to drive change. In light of this, a large number of international superstars have joined the nail painting craze.
Polished Man is still working to provide a better, safer environment for children today. Their principal goal is to stop child sexual abuse. “Being a Polished Man means challenging violent behavior and language, both locally and globally,” the organization states.
Chris Hemsworth is one well-known person who has taken a strong stance; he posed for the organization with a painted nail.
It takes more than just remembering to purchase flowers, shouting rounds, or lifting a lot to be a @PolishedMan. Saying no to violence against children is the main goal, according to Hemsworth.
Famous surfers Kelly Slater and Zac Efron also participated in the social media challenge, and maybe more people will openly speak out against child abuse.
Although the campaign began quietly a few years prior, by 2014 it had drawn the interest of numerous prominent media outlets.
The organization has persevered in its hard work and has now existed for a decade. Polished Man claims that $8.7 million has been raised to fund trauma prevention and recovery initiatives for women and children who have experienced or are at danger of experiencing violence in Australia and other countries.
Old Woman Finds Note at Son’s Grave That Will Leave You in Tears
For Nancy, her son Henry was everything; she could not imagine life without him. It had been 23 years since the terrible accident that took Henry’s life. Every year on that day, she brought his favorite pie to his grave to remember him. But this year, something was about to change.
For 23 years, Nancy, now 61, had never missed a single year on this date. She baked her late son’s favorite pie and took it to his grave each year since he passed away.
The pie, a simple but delicious apple and cinnamon treat, had been Henry’s favorite since he was a child.
The smell of apples and cinnamon reminded her of when Henry was young, running into the kitchen with his eyes shining at the sight of the pie.
On this day, just like every year before, Nancy carefully carried the freshly baked pie to the graveyard.
The dish felt heavier as she walked toward Henry’s resting place. The grave was neat and covered in flowers, showing how much he was still loved.
The stone had become smoother over the years because she often ran her fingers over it, lost in her memories.
Nancy knelt and placed the pie gently on the gravestone. Her heart ached as she began to speak, her voice quiet, as if Henry might somehow hear her.
“Henry, I hope you’re at peace, my love. I miss you every day. I baked your favorite pie again. Remember how we used to bake it together? You always snuck a taste before it was done.”
She smiled, but her eyes were misty with tears. “I wish we could do that one more time.”
The familiar sorrow welled up inside her, but Nancy had learned over the years to push through the tears.
She quickly wiped her eyes and managed a small smile. After a few more moments of silence, she kissed her fingers and touched the top of the gravestone as she said her quiet goodbye.
Then, with a heavy but comforted heart, she turned and walked away, knowing she would be back next year, just like always.
The next day, as part of her routine, Nancy returned to Henry’s grave to clean up the remains of the pie.
Usually, by the time she returned, the pie was either untouched or spoiled by the weather, a quiet reminder of her son’s absence.
She found it bittersweet, knowing the pie stayed where she left it, as if waiting for him.
But today, as she approached the grave, something felt different. Nancy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the plate was clean—completely empty. For a moment, she stood frozen in disbelief.
Then, she noticed something else. Resting on the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half.
Nancy’s hands trembled as she picked up the note. Her breath caught in her throat as she unfolded it.
The handwriting was shaky, as though the writer had struggled to form the letters. The simple words read: “Thank you.”
Her heart pounded with confusion and anger.
“Who took Henry’s pie?” she muttered under her breath, clutching the note tightly. “This was for my son. No one had the right to touch it!”
Her private ritual, her way of honoring and remembering her son, had been disturbed by a stranger.
She felt violated, as if someone had stolen a piece of her grief.
With her emotions swirling—part outrage, part confusion—Nancy left the cemetery, determined to find the person who had taken her son’s pie. She needed to know who had done this and why.
Determined to catch the culprit, Nancy decided to take action. She couldn’t let someone continue to disrupt how she honored Henry. So, she made a plan.
That night, she baked another of Henry’s favorite pies, the same apple and cinnamon recipe she had been making for over twenty years.
The next morning, with renewed resolve, she placed the freshly baked pie on Henry’s grave, just like before, but this time she wasn’t leaving.
She found a large oak tree nearby and hid behind it, close enough to see the grave but far enough to not be noticed.
The warm aroma of the pie drifted through the air, filling the quiet cemetery.
Time passed slowly as Nancy watched and waited, her heart racing in anticipation.
An hour later, she spotted movement. A small figure cautiously approached the grave. Nancy squinted, leaning forward to get a better look.
It wasn’t the greedy thief she had imagined. No, this was something entirely different.
A young boy, no older than 9, with ragged clothes and dirt smudged on his face, moved toward the pie with careful steps.
Nancy’s heart tightened as she watched him. The boy didn’t immediately take the pie.
Instead, he knelt by the grave and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper and a dull pencil. His hand trembled as he carefully scribbled something on the paper, his brow furrowed with concentration.
It was clear the boy struggled with writing, but he took his time, making sure each word was clear.
Nancy’s heart softened as she saw him write “Thank you” on the paper, just like before. He wasn’t a thief; he was just a hungry child, grateful for the kindness of a pie left behind.
The anger that had once consumed Nancy melted away in an instant. She realized this boy wasn’t stealing; he was surviving. He was in need, and her son’s favorite pie had brought him comfort.
As the boy began to pick up the pie, his small hands shaking, Nancy stepped out from her hiding spot.
The rustle of leaves under her feet made him freeze, wide-eyed. Startled, he dropped the pie, and it tumbled onto the grass. His face paled, and he backed away, looking terrified.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” the boy cried, his voice trembling with panic. “I was just so hungry, and the pie was so good. Please don’t be mad.”
Nancy’s heart softened instantly. The sight of him—thin, dirty, and scared—erased any anger she had felt before.
She knelt beside him, speaking gently, her voice as comforting as she could make it. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you. Where are your parents?” she asked. The boy stayed silent and shook his head. “What’s your name?” Nancy asked, understanding that the boy had nowhere to go.
“Jimmy,” he muttered, still avoiding her eyes, ashamed of what he had done.
“Well, Jimmy,” Nancy smiled softly, trying to reassure him, “it’s okay. You don’t have to steal pies. If you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.”
Jimmy looked up at her, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. “I didn’t mean to steal,” he said, his voice small and shaky. “I just… I don’t get to eat much, and that pie was the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Nancy’s heart ached for him, and her mind filled with thoughts of how different this boy’s life must be.
The hunger in his eyes reminded her of her own son, Henry, when he eagerly waited for that first bite of her freshly baked pie.
But Henry never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Jimmy, on the other hand, looked like he had been living with hunger for a long time.
“Come with me,” Nancy said after a moment of thought. She stood up and reached out her hand to him. “I’ll bake you a fresh pie, just for you.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened in disbelief, as if he couldn’t trust his own ears. “Really?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt.
Nancy nodded, her heart filled with a strange but comforting warmth. “Yes, really. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Slowly, Jimmy reached out and took Nancy’s hand.
She led him back to her home, the boy walking beside her in silence, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure if this was all real. Nancy’s heart swelled with the thought of what she was about to do.
Baking had always been her way of showing love, and now, after years of baking for a son she could no longer see, she was about to bake for someone who truly needed it.
When they reached her cozy kitchen, Nancy set to work, rolling out the dough, slicing the apples, and adding just the right amount of cinnamon—just as she had done many times before.
Jimmy watched her quietly from the corner of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he followed every move she made.
The smell of the pie began to fill the room, warm and comforting, like a hug from a long-lost friend.
Once the pie was baked, Nancy placed it in front of Jimmy. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said softly.
“This one’s all for you.”
Jimmy hesitated for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. But then he grabbed a slice and took a bite. His face lit up with joy, and his eyes sparkled as he chewed.
“This is the best pie I’ve ever had,” he said, his mouth still full. He ate with such happiness that it brought tears to Nancy’s eyes.
She watched him in silence, thinking about how something as simple as a pie could bring so much comfort to someone.
As Jimmy devoured the warm slices with obvious delight, Nancy couldn’t help but think of Henry.
She had always dreamed of seeing her son eat his favorite pie again, watching him enjoy it the way he used to when he was a child.
But now, in some strange and unexpected way, she was sharing it with another boy who needed it just as much.
Watching Jimmy eat, Nancy felt a deep sense of peace wash over her. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe fate had brought Jimmy into her life for a reason. By feeding him, by offering kindness when he needed it most, she was honoring Henry’s memory in a way she had never imagined.
For the first time in years, Nancy felt that her grief had led her to something beautiful—a connection, a purpose that gave new meaning to her life.
Maybe, just maybe, this was Henry’s way of sending her a message—that love and kindness should always find their way back to those in need.
Nancy smiled as she watched Jimmy finish the last slice of pie, her heart full of warmth and gratitude.
She had found an unexpected connection in the most unlikely place, and it filled her soul in a way that nothing else had in years.
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