“Little girl, who are you looking for?” I asked.
“Im searching for my mumhave you seen her?” A small girl of about six stared up at me with wide, earnest eyes.
I hesitated. I hadnt lived in this house for long, and as far as I knew, the flat opposite mine had been empty the entire time.
“But no one lives there,” I told her gently.
At that, she burst into tears and sank onto the stairs.
“Auntie, we need her so badly! Only she can make things rightDad misses her terribly.”
I stood there, unsure how to comfort this sweet child. Having no children of my own, I didnt know where to beginshould I hug her? Offer tea? But she wouldnt likely trust a stranger. Just then, my phone rang. Begging her to stay, I rushed off. When I returned, she was gone.
All evening, she lingered in my thoughts. Resolving to learn more, I rang my landlady and asked about the neighbours on our landing.
“No ones lived there for years,” said Mrs. Whitmore. “Why do you ask?”
“A little girl came by today, looking for her mother.”
A pause. Then, softly, she replied, “That must have been Catherines daughter but Catherines been gone a long time. Her husband was left with a baby. Couldnt bear staying in that flat, so he moved. Its been empty since.”
“Listen, Irene, they live nearby now. If she comes again, take her home.” She gave me the address.
Time passed, and the memory faded. Work kept me busy, leaving early, returning late.
Then, just before Christmas, I heard a soft knock and quiet sobs. Throwing open the door, there she wasthe same grey-eyed girl, weeping.
“Whats wrong? Wheres your father?”
“Hes at home. Im looking for Mum,” she whispered.
Remembering the address, I hurried inside to find it, asking her to wait. She stepped in, glancing around before curling up on the hallway stool. When I finally found the slip of paper, she was fast asleep, tucked into herself like a little hedgehog. Carefully, I carried her to the sofa, then rang Mrs. Whitmore again.
“You remember the girl I told you about? The one knocking on the empty flat?”
“Well, shes here with me now. I meant to take her home, but she fell asleep. Im afraid her father will worry.”
“Dont fret, Irene. I live closeIll go to them. Stay by the phone.”
Hanging up, I studied the sleeping child. Brushing a stray curl from her face, I sighed. Id once dreamed of children, but life had other plans. My husband and I had been happy, ready to start a family.
Twice, hope had comeand twice, it was lost. Stress, long hours, exhaustion. In time, even my marriage crumbled. He moved on; I heard he had a daughter now. Seven years passed, and I drifted from one rented flat to another, alone.
A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts. Opening the door, I frozemy former husband stood there.
“George? How?”
“I came for my daughter Wait, 5 Maple Street, right?”
“Yes, thats right. Shes asleep.” I led him inside, putting the kettle on. Life had a way of surprising you when you least expected it.
“Are we intruding? I can wake Annie and go.”
“Let her rest. Whats happened? Shes come knocking several times now.”
George rubbed his eyes, weary. Then he began.
“We lived here years agothis was Catherines family flat. After we married, we moved in. Soon, she was expecting. Id never been happier.”
His voice wavered. “When her time came, I took her to the hospital. She was crying, as if she knew Made me promise to care for the baby if anything happened. There were complications. They couldnt save her.”
“Im so sorry,” I murmured, touching his arm. Tears streamed down his face, years of grief finally breaking free.
A small voice called from the hall. “Daddy?”
George swept Annie into his arms. “You scared me! Why did you leave?”
“I just wanted to find Mum.”
“We will, sweetheart. But not yet. Lets go home.”
Turning to me, he handed me a card. “Call if she comes again. Were close byshe knows the way now.”
“How did she find this place?” I asked.
“I showed her,” he admitted. “Needed to collect some things. She saw Catherines photos on the walls Now she dreams of meeting her. I told her Mum had gone away but would come back someday.”
They left, but George called days later. Slowly, we rebuilt our friendshipweekend trips to the park, cafés, the cinema. Annie grew fond of me, even calling me “Mum” once.
Then one evening, George took my hands. “Irene, move in with us. No more renting. Annie misses you. And I” He looked down. “Ive missed you too. Forgive me.”
Now, we raise our little blessingAnnie. Every day, I thank fate for this priceless gift: to be a wife, a mother, loved.
And though she isnt mine by blood, nothing stops me from giving her all the tenderness and love Id saved for a child of my own.
