Gregory had no time for festivities. For three days, he had sat by his beloved Emily’s side in the hospital ward, neither eating nor sleeping, only listening to her ragged breaths. Just a week ago, his darling wife had been healthy, bustling about their home in preparation for Christmas.
She had scrubbed every corner, planned the holiday menu—though two pensions hardly stretched to luxuries. Not that they needed much. “The scent of Christmas pudding and mulled wine is all that matters,” Gregory would reassure her. He hadn’t known that in an instant, she would crumple like a frostbited blossom, collapsing unconscious, only for the doctors to later deliver a shattering diagnosis. No festive aromas would drift through their home this winter. No warmth.
Those dreadful days turned his hair white. But his heart truly clenched when the surgeon said Emily needed an operation—urgently—and named the cost. A sum as distant as the stars.
“I… I don’t have that kind of money,” Gregory whispered. “We’re pensioners. We live simply. Our nephew helps when he can, but he has his own family, his own struggles.”
The doctor could only offer sympathy before repeating the hospital couldn’t cover such expenses. The news made Gregory wish for death. What was life without his Emily?
They had married young, barely out of school. Decades together, rarely quarreling, and when they did, it was over trifles—forgiven by dusk. God had never blessed them with children, so they’d poured their love into Emily’s nephew. He visited now and then with his wife and daughters, never forgetting them. But even he couldn’t muster such a fortune.
Another night of torment stretched endlessly. By dawn, the nurses coaxed Gregory home for a few hours—to rest, to eat. He fumbled for his keys, numb, until his neighbor Margaret appeared in the doorway.
“How’s Emily, Greg?”
His sigh carried the weight of the world before he shared the grim news. Margaret clutched her chest. “Oh, what dreadful luck! Where on earth will you get that sort of money? I’ll rally the village—perhaps we can scrape together enough for her medicines, at least.”
Gregory waved her off, too buried in grief for hope. Margaret understood. Without another word, she fetched him a bowl of hot stew, fresh from the stove.
Back at the hospital, Emily had worsened. Gregory clenched his fists, helpless. “Lord, save her—or take me with her,” he pleaded silently, staring through the ward’s window at the darkening sky. Snowflakes swirled like ash. He felt utterly alone under those iron clouds.
Then the nurse murmured, “Mrs. Emily has a visitor.”
Gregory blinked. Who? Her nephew was away on urgent business. Margaret?
But behind the nurse stood a stranger—a woman in a tailored coat. She stepped forward.
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m Charlotte. I lived near you years ago.”
Gregory squinted, bewildered.
“You don’t remember…” Charlotte’s voice softened. “But you should. My family was poor. You helped us. There were days we’d nothing to eat.”
Fragments of memory surfaced: a widowed mother, six children crammed into the cottage across the lane. Harsh winters. Gregory, then earning well, had often brought them biscuits, toys, books. Once, he and Emily had even bought the youngest girl—this very woman—a smart jumper and sweets for her birthday, saving her from schoolyard shame.
“Gregory,” Charlotte said firmly, “I’ve paid for Emily’s surgery. She’ll live.”
His breath hitched. “But—child, how? It’s an impossible sum—”
“Don’t fret,” she squeezed his hand. “I live in New York now. My husband’s business thrives. We visit home seldom, but when Margaret told me… well, how could I not help?”
God had heard his prayers. The surgery succeeded. Emily would recover—weeks, and she’d be home, filling their cottage with laughter again. Charlotte stayed, soothing, bringing medicine, pressing sandwiches into Gregory’s hands.
One evening, over tea in the hospital canteen, he shuddered with gratitude. “Why, Charlotte? Why us?”
She smiled. “You were our fairy godparents. Especially to me.” She stirred her tea, remembering. “Once, before my birthday, I overheard girls planning to mock me if I brought no treats. But you gave me chocolates enough for the whole class. That jumper? The other girls gasped with envy.”
“But that was so long ago—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Her eyes gleamed. “Kindness always comes back. So now it’s my turn.”
