At the edge of a vast dark forest lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and their two children, Hansel and Gretel. The family was so poor that they often went to bed hungry, their small cottage echoing with sighs instead of laughter.

One bitter night, the stepmother whispered to the woodcutter that they must take the children into the forest and leave them there, for there was no food left to share. The father’s heart ached, but her words were cold as stone.

Hansel, half awake, heard every word. When the moon rose, he slipped outside and filled his pockets with white pebbles that shone like silver.

The next morning, their mother led them deep into the forest. As they walked, Hansel dropped his pebbles one by one, leaving a shining trail behind them.

When night fell and their parents did not return, Gretel began to cry. But Hansel pointed to the moonlit pebbles, and together they followed the path home, hand in hand.

The next day, the stepmother locked the door so Hansel could not gather pebbles. She handed them each a small crust of bread for the journey. Again, the father led them into the forest, sorrow in his eyes.

This time Hansel scattered crumbs instead of stones, but the forest birds swooped down and ate them all. When the sun set, no path remained to guide them home.

Hansel and Gretel wandered for days. The trees grew taller, the shadows longer, and their hunger deeper. Yet they held each other close and did not give up hope.

On the third morning, a delicious smell drifted through the air. They followed it to a little house built of gingerbread and sugar, with windows of clear candy.

An old woman opened the door and smiled kindly. “Come in, my dear children,” she said. “You must be so hungry.” They did not know she was a witch who lured children with her sweet house.

The moment they stepped inside, the door slammed shut. The witch’s eyes gleamed; she locked Hansel in a cage and set Gretel to work.

Each day the witch brought food to fatten Hansel, feeling his fingers through the bars. But he offered her a thin bone instead, and her failing eyes could not tell.

When the witch grew impatient, she told Gretel to heat the oven. The girl wept silently, praying for courage. “The oven is ready,” the witch snapped. “Look inside and see if it’s hot enough.”

Gretel’s heart pounded. “I don’t know how,” she said. “Please show me.” The witch bent down to peer inside—and in that moment, Gretel pushed her in and shut the door. The fire roared, and it was over.

She ran to free Hansel, and together they laughed and cried for joy. “We are safe now,” Hansel whispered.

Before they left, Gretel found a chest filled with jewels and gold. “These will help Father,” she said. They carried as much as their small hands could hold.

They followed a white bird through the forest until they reached a familiar clearing. Their father stood by the doorway, tears in his eyes. The wicked stepmother was gone, and the little house seemed full of light again.

Hansel and Gretel poured the jewels into their father’s hands. From that day, they never went hungry again. And every evening, when the fire crackled softly, they told each other that love and courage would always lead them home.