Im walking toward the station when a faint sound cuts through the February chill. The icy wind whips my coat, slaps my cheeks and carries a tiny, persistent whimper, almost lost in the howl of the storm.
The noise comes from the tracks. I glance at the old, abandoned signal box, halfburied in snow, and see a dark bundle lying beside the rails.
I step closer. A worn, filthy blanket hides a tiny shape. A small hand sticks out, reddened by cold.
Oh my God, I gasp, my heart pounding.
I drop to my knees and lift the bundle. Its a baby, a little girl, no older than a year, maybe younger. Her lips are blue, her cries feeble, as if she lacks the strength even to be scared.
I press her to my chest, open my coat to shield her from the frost, and sprint as fast as my legs will carry me to the village. I head straight for Sarah Collins, the only paramedic in town.
Emily, what on earth? Sarah looks at the bundle in my arms, gasping for breath.
I found her on the line. Shes nearly frozen.
Sarah cradles the infant gently, checking her. Shes hypothermic but shes alive. Thank heavens.
We need to call the police, she says, reaching for the phone.
I stop her. Theyll just send her to a childrens home. She wont survive the journey.
She hesitates, then opens a cupboard. Here. I have some baby formula left over from my granddaughters last visit. Itll keep her going for now. But Emily what are you planning to do?
I stare at the little face pressed into my sweater, feeling her warm breath on my skin. Shes stopped crying.
Ill raise her, I whisper. Theres no other choice.
The gossip starts almost immediately.
Shes thirtyfive, single, lives aloneand now shes collecting abandoned babies?
Let the chatter flow. I never cared for gossip. With a few friends at the council I sort out the paperwork. There are no relatives, no missingchild report.
I name her Charlotte.
The first year is the hardest: sleepless nights, fevers, teething. I rock her, soothe her, sing lullabies I barely remember from my own childhood.
Mum! she says at ten months, reaching her arms toward me.
Tears stream down my cheeks. After years of solitudejust me and my little cottageI finally become a mother.
At two shes a whirlwind, chasing the cat, tugging at curtains, demanding answers to everything. By three she recognises every letter in her picture books. At four she spins full stories of her own.
Shes gifted, says my neighbour, Mrs. Patel, shaking her head in amazement. I dont know how you do it.
Its not me, I smile. She just shines.
At five I organise a carshare to get her to the nursery in the neighbouring town. The staff are astonished.
She reads better than most sevenyearolds, they tell me.
When she starts primary school she wears long chestnut braids with matching ribbons, which I braid each morning to perfection. No parents evening passes without me. Her teachers heap praise on her.
Miss Green, a teacher once remarks, Charlotte is the kind of pupil we dream of. Shell go far.
My heart swells with pride. My daughter.
She grows into a graceful, beautiful young womanslim, selfassured, with striking blue eyes full of determination. She wins spelling bees, maths Olympiads, even regional science fairs. Everyone in the county knows her name.
One evening, near the end of her GCSEs, she comes home and says, Mum, I want to be a doctor.
I blink. Thats wonderful, love. But how will we afford university? The tuition, rent, food?
Ive got a scholarship, she replies, eyes bright. Ill find a way. I promise.
And she does.
When her acceptance letter to medical school arrives, I weep for two daystears of joy and fear. She leaves me for the first time.
Dont cry, Mum, she says at the station, squeezing my hand. Ill visit every weekend.
Of course she cant keep that promise. The city swallows herlectures, labs, exams. At first she calls once a month, then every few weeks, but she never misses an evening phone call.
Mum! Ive aced anatomy!
Mum! We delivered a baby today in the clinic rotation!
Each time I smile and soak up her stories.
In her third year she sounds excited. Ive met someone, she admits shyly.
His name is James, a fellow student. He joins her for Christmastall, polite, with kind eyes and a calm voice. He thanks us for the meal and clears the table without being asked.
Nice catch, I whisper to Charlotte while washing dishes.
Or what? she beams. And dont worryIm still getting top marks.
After graduation she starts her paediatric training, naturally.
You saved me once, she says. Now I want to save other kids.
She visits less often. I understand; she has her own life. I keep every photograph, every tiny patient story.
Then, on a Thursday evening, my phone rings.
Mum can I come tomorrow? her voice is low, nervous. I need to talk.
My heart races. Of course, love. Is everything alright?
She arrives the next afternoon alone, without her usual smile, her eyes dull.
Whats wrong? I ask, pulling her into a hug.
She sits, folds her hands. Two people came to the hospital. A man and a woman. They said theyre my uncle and aunt. They said my niece vanished twentyfive years ago.
A chill runs through me. And?
They had photos, DNA testseverything. It matches.
Silence falls.
They abandoned you, I whisper. Left you in the snow.
They claim they werent responsible. That my parents fled a violent situation, got lost at the station, searched for years.
My breath catches. And your parents?
They died ten years ago in a car crash.
Im at a loss for words.
Charlotte takes my hand. They just want the truth. Hold my hand tight and tell them, No matter what the past says, you are and will always be my daughter.
