**A Fateful Encounter**
I married Jeremy right after university. Our love was so intense, it felt as though the world existed only for the two of us. Seeing our happiness, my parents helped us buy a spacious two-bedroom flat in Manchester.
One of the rooms we lovingly prepared as a nursery—two small cots, already imagining our future child sleeping soundly in one. We even picked a name for our firstborn: *Oliver*. Somehow, I just knew it would be a boy. If it were a girl, we had *Emily* in reserve, but we only ever spoke excitedly about Oliver to friends, as if a daughter were a distant possibility.
When my grandmother, Margaret, heard this, she scolded me sharply:
“Emma, darling, you mustn’t do that! Naming a child before they’re born is bad luck!”
“Gran, really? You still believe in those old wives’ tales?” I laughed it off.
But three years passed, and the nursery remained empty—almost as if cursed. I couldn’t conceive. Doctors, medicines, endless tests—nothing worked. Hope melted away like morning frost, leaving nothing but a cold, hollow ache.
Margaret, heartbroken for me, convinced me to visit a local healer, Mrs. Wilkins. I didn’t believe in such things, but desperation made me agree. *What if?*
Mrs. Wilkins listened, then fixed me with deep, unsettling eyes.
“You and your husband dreamed of a son—named him Oliver. But the name came before the child. Someone claimed it. Now, both you and the boy who bears it are unhappy. Make *him* happy, and joy will return to you.”
Her words struck me like truth.
“What should I do?” My voice shook.
“You’ll know,” she said cryptically. “When you do, happiness will find you.”
Another year passed. Still no child. I nearly forgot Mrs. Wilkins’ words, but a stubborn flicker of hope remained. Jeremy never lost faith, though sorrow shadowed his eyes more often.
Then, one day, I was across town near the old puppet theatre when a minibus marked *Children’s Home* pulled up. A flock of giggling toddlers tumbled out like sparrows. I stopped, transfixed by their laughter—until a shout cut through:
“Oli-ver!”
A little boy darted into the road after his runaway cap. I lunged, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close, my heart hammering.
“Oliver,” I breathed, not knowing why I’d said his name.
“Mummy,” he whispered, clinging to my neck.
A carer rushed over. “Thank you so much!” She tried to take him, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Oliver, let’s go see the puppets,” I murmured, trembling.
“Why did he call me Mummy?” I asked.
“They do that with anyone they like,” she said gently, then added, “You don’t have children?”
“No,” my voice cracked. “We’ve tried…”
She studied me kindly. “Oliver’s a lovely boy. You should visit us.”
That evening, Jeremy found me in tears.
“What happened, Em?” He pulled me into his arms.
“Near the puppet theatre… a boy ran into the road. I caught him. He hugged me—called me Mummy. And his name… Jeremy, it’s *Oliver*.”
I sobbed into his shoulder. “Let’s bring him home. He could be ours.”
Jeremy hesitated—then smiled. “How old is he?”
“Three or four. He’s so sweet, so bright. When I held him, something just… *clicked*.”
“Alright, love. Tomorrow, we’ll go to the home.”
The next day, armed with toys and sweets, we met the director, Mrs. Thompson. She already knew about the incident.
“Oliver’s a resilient little chap,” she said. “I’ll bring him in.”
The moment he saw me, he sprinted into my arms. “Mummy!”
Tears spilled as I held him. “Oliver, darling…”
Jeremy pulled out a toy car. Oliver’s eyes lit up.
“Let’s open it!” Jeremy grinned.
Mrs. Thompson drew me aside. “He’s taken to you both. Let’s talk paperwork.”
Weeks later, Jeremy brought Oliver home for a trial stay.
“We’re going in the *car*?” Oliver gasped, strapped into his seat.
At the flat, he marveled at the nursery, the warmth, the *parents* who doted on him.
Soon, the adoption was final. We took him forever.
A year later, I collapsed. Ambulance lights. Oliver clung to Jeremy, wide-eyed.
When I came home, Jeremy carried a tiny bundle. Granny Margaret unwrapped it.
“Meet your sister!”
Oliver beamed. “Her name’s Emily!”
I hugged him, weeping. “I missed you so much, my love.”
