**Belated Regret**
Angelica had never particularly dreamed of a second child. She and Max already had a seven-year-old son, and the thought of returning to sleepless nights, nappies, and endless crying didn’t appeal. Besides, her career was finally taking off—she’d just clawed her way out from under the weight of maternity leave, and now, another pregnancy. But Max, infuriatingly, had always wanted a daughter, and now that it had happened, backing out seemed impossible.
The baby girl was astonishingly beautiful—delicate features, a tiny nose, rosebud lips, and most of all, endless blue eyes like cornflowers in a summer meadow. At first, just looking at them made Angelica smile, but soon everything changed. The doctors said the little one had a congenital heart defect. Long-term treatment, possibly major surgery, constant care. Life as they knew it was over.
Angel listened and felt her own world crumbling. Where were the glamorous work parties now? The holidays abroad, the posh gyms, the nights out with the girls? She wasn’t ready to give all that up. Not at twenty-eight. Max listened to her arguments and—alarmingly quickly—agreed. They decided to give up the child. To friends and family, they said the baby had died at birth.
Mary Nichols had worked as a carer in the children’s home for twenty-five years. You’d think she’d have grown numb to it, but every abandoned child still felt like a fresh wound. This little blue-eyed girl, with her quiet gaze and fragile heart, was especially hard to bear.
The baby clung to Mary instantly—giggling, reaching for her, patting her face with tiny hands. Mary found herself thinking, *My own kids are grown. Just me and Colin now. We’ve got our cottage, the garden, the chickens. Clean air, countryside. Why not?*
She talked to her husband. He came to the home, took one look at the girl, blinked rapidly, and said, “Your call, love. If you reckon we can manage the treatment—I’m in. We’ll sort the money somehow.”
“I’ll manage, Colin, I promise!” she said, squeezing his hand.
“Let’s call her Hope,” he murmured. “A name to fight for her life with. Feels right.”
And so, the girl found a family. It was a hard road—hospitals, tests, rehab clinics. Mary pored over medical books at night, badgered doctors for advice, and kept vigil by Hope’s cot. Colin worked himself to the bone, grew thin and grey, but every time Hope hugged him, he lit up like springtime.
Hope grew up kind and bright. Old neighbours, little kids—everyone loved her. At five, she once marched ahead of old Mrs. Dawson, proudly balancing two ears of corn: “Feel better now?”
“Course I do, love. You’re my sunshine,” the old woman chuckled.
When the surgery came, the whole village prayed. It worked. Hope lived—heart and soul both saved.
Years passed. Hope aced school, got into med school. One April afternoon, she strolled through the park, lost in thoughts of May bank holiday—digging in the garden with Mum, sipping herbal tea in the arbour at dusk.
Something soft bumped her leg—a stuffed rabbit. A boy sat nearby with a polished, glamorous woman.
“Why’d you throw it?” Hope asked.
“’Cause it’s sick and gonna die!” the boy snapped.
Hope froze. The woman sighed. “Sorry… He’s got a heart defect. His parents didn’t want him, so he’s with me. My grandson.”
Hope studied her. Beautiful, put together—but her eyes were hollow. To comfort her, Hope shared her own story. The bad heart. The adoption. The parents who fought to save her.
The woman went pale. It was Angel.
She stared, breath shallow. This was her daughter. *Hers.* Blue eyes, Max’s chin—everything.
“It can’t be,” she whispered.
“Anything’s possible!” Hope smiled. “You just have to want it enough. Fight for it. Mum and Dad saved me—you can save him too. Good luck!”
And she walked off, leaving Angel shattered on the bench.
Angel sat there, small and broken. This was her daughter. The one she’d abandoned—for career, parties, freedom. Except the freedom never came. Max left her. Her son turned wild—booze, brawls, a wreck of a life. Her daughter-in-law bolted, dumping this sick grandson in her lap.
Now, Angel wanted to run after her, scream *”I’m your mother!”*—but she didn’t dare. She’d forfeited that right long ago.
Meanwhile, Hope walked on, smiling at the sky. She had no idea she’d just saved another heart.
