I discover two tiny children in the garden, take them in as my own, and after fifteen years strangers try to snatch them away.
Emma, come quick! Stephen shouts from the vegetable patch, and I drop the halfmixed batter straight into the sourdough starter.
I dash onto the porchmy husband stands beside the old apple tree. Next to him are two little ones: a boy and a girl, sitting in the grass between the carrot rows, filthy, in torn smocks, eyes wide with terror.
Where did they come from? I whisper, stepping closer.
The girl reaches out with trembling hands. The boy clings to her but shows no sign of fear. They look about two years old, maybe a little older.
I dont get it myself, Stephen rubs the back of his head. I was watering the kale and there they were, as if theyd sprouted from the soil.
I crouch down. The girl instantly wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. She smells of earth and a hint of sour milk. The boy stays rooted, his gaze never leaving me.
What are your names? I ask softly.
Theres no answer, only the girls tighter hug and a soft snuffle.
We need to tell the parish council, Stephen says, or the local constable.
Hold on, I say, stroking the childs tousled hair. First lets give them something to eat. Look how thin they are.
I lead the girl inside; the boy follows hesitantly, gripping the edge of my dress. In the kitchen I seat them at the table, pour milk, and slice buttered bread. They devour it as if they havent eaten in days.
Maybe a travelling circus dropped them off? Stephen suggests, watching them.
No, I shake my head. Circus children are usually darkerskinned. These two are faireyed and blond.
After the meal the children perk up. The boy even smiles when I offer a second slice. The girl climbs onto my lap and falls asleep, clutching my sweater.
That evening Constable Jones arrives. He inspects the children and scribbles in his notebook.
Well spread the word throughout the villages, he says. Someone may have lost them. For now they can stay with you; the district care home has no space.
We dont mind, I reply, holding the sleeping girl close.
Stephen nods. Weve been married a year and have no children of our ownnow we have two at once.
That night we set them up in our upstairs room, on the floor by the stove. The boy lies awake for a long while, watching me. I reach out, and he timidly takes my finger.
Dont be scared, I whisper. Youre not alone any more.
In the morning a gentle touch rouses me. I open my eyes to find the girl standing beside me, carefully brushing my cheek.
Mum she says, uncertain.
My heart stops. I scoop her up and press her to my chest.
Yes, love. Mum.
Fifteen years flash by. We name the girl Poppyshe grows into a slender beauty with long golden hair and skyblue eyes. The boy becomes Mikey, strong and steady like his father.
Both help on the farm, excel at school, and become everything to us.
Mum, I want to go to university in Cambridge, Poppy declares at dinner. I want to be a paediatrician.
And Im thinking of studying at the agricultural college, Mikey adds. Dad, you said its time to expand the farm.
Stephen smiles and ruffles his sons shoulder. We never had biological children, but we never regretted itthese two are truly ours.
Back then Constable Jones found no relatives. We formalised guardianship, then adoption. The children always knew the truth; we never hid anything. To them, we were real Mum and Dad.
Remember my first pie? Poppy laughs. I dropped all the dough on the floor.
And you, Mikey, were terrified of milking the cows, Stephen teases. You thought theyd eat you.
We laugh, swapping memories: the first school day when Poppy clung to me, Mikeys tussle with bullies who called him a foster child, the meeting with the headteacher that finally settled things.
After the children go to bed, Stephen and I sit on the porch.
Theyve grown up well, he says, pulling me close.
My own, I agree.
The next day everything changes. A sleek black car pulls up to the gate. A man and a woman, both about fortyfive, step out, dressed sharply.
Hello, the woman says with a polite smile, though her eyes are cold. Were looking for our children. Fifteen years ago they vanished. A boy and a girl.
It feels like a splash of cold water. Stephen steps beside me.
What brings you here? he asks calmly.
We were told you took them in, the man says, producing a folder of papers. These are our childrens records.
I glance at the datesthey match, but my heart doubts.
You stayed silent for fifteen years, I say quietly. Where were you?
We searched, of course, the woman sighs. The children were with a nanny who then had an accident they disappeared. Only now have we found a lead.
At that moment Poppy and Mikey emerge from the house, startled by the strangers.
Mum, whats happening? Poppy grabs my hand.
The woman gasps, covering her mouth.
Poppy! Its you! And this is Mikey! she exclaims.
The children look at each other, confused.
We are your parents, the man blurts. Weve come home.
Home? Poppys voice trembles. She squeezes my hand tighter. Were already home.
Oh, come on, the woman steps forward. Were your blood family. We have a house near London and can help with the farm. Blood is stronger than strangers.
Anger boils inside me.
You didnt look for them for fifteen years, and now that theyre grown and can work, you appear? I hiss.
We filed a police report, the man begins.
Show me, Stephen says, extending his hand. The man produces a certificate, but Stephen spots the datejust a month ago.
Thats a forgery, he says. Wheres the original?
The man stammers, tucking the papers away.
You didnt look for them, Mikey interjects sharply. Constable Jones checked. There were no reports.
Enough, boy! the man snaps. Youre coming with us!
Were not going anywhere, Poppy says, standing beside me. These are our parentsour real ones.
The womans face reddens. She pulls out her phone.
Im calling the police now. We have documents; blood is thicker than paper.
Call them, Stephen agrees. And make sure Jones is there. Hes kept all the records for fifteen years.
An hour later the yard is crowded with the constable, a district inspector, even the parish council chairman. Poppy and Mikey sit inside; I hold them close.
We wont hand you over, I whisper, clutching them. Never.
Were not scared, Mum, Mikey says, fists clenched. Let them try.
Stephen enters, his expression grim.
The papers are fake, he says shortly. The inspector spotted inconsistencies straight away. The dates dont line up. When the children arrived, those parents were in Brightontickets and photos prove it.
Why would they do that? Poppy asks.
Jones figured it out. Their farm was in debt, workers had left, they needed free labour. They heard about us and forged everything.
We step outside. The man is already being led to a police van. The woman screams for a lawyer, a trial.
Theyre our children! Youre stealing them!
Poppy looks her straight in the eye: I found my parents fifteen years ago. They raised me, loved me, never left. You are strangers who wanted to use us.
The woman steps back, stunned.
When the police cars drive off, we are left alonejust the four of us. Neighbours whisper and drift away.
Thanks for not giving them away, Mikey hugs us.
Silly lad, I stroke his hair. How could we? Youre ours.
Poppy smiles through tears: I used to wonder what would happen if my real parents turned up. Now I know nothing would change. My real parents are you.
That evening we gather around the tablejust as we did fifteen years ago, only now the children are adults. The love remains warm and familiar.
Mum, tell us again how you found us, Poppy asks.
I smile and begin the story anew: two little ones in the garden, how they slipped into our home and hearts, and how we became a family.
Later, little Vanyaour grandsonholds up a crayon drawing.
Look, Grandma, thats our house! he exclaims.
Lovely! I laugh, kneeling beside him. Is that you, Grandpa, Mum and Dad, Aunt Poppy and Uncle Stephen?
Poppy, now a doctor at the district hospital, waddles in, her belly round with her second child.
Mum, Mikes called, they and Katya will be here soon. Did you bake the pies?
Of course, I reply. Apple ones, your favourite.
Years drift by. Poppy graduates, returns homecity life felt cramped, but here theres fresh air and peace. She marries our tractor driver, Simon, a reliable man.
Mikey finishes agricultural college and now runs the farm with Stephen. He marries a teacher, Kate, and they already have little Vanya.
Grandpa! Vanya darts from my arms to the yard.
Stephen, hair now greying, scoops him up and spins him round. What will you be when you grow up?
A tractor driver, like Dad and you! Vanya declares.
Poppy and I exchange smiles, laughing at how history repeats itself.
Mikeys car pulls up. Kate hops out, carrying a pot.
Brought borscht, your favourite! she says.
Thanks, love, he replies.
And we have news! she adds brightly.
What news? I ask cautiously.
Were expecting twins! Kate beams.
Poppy hugs them, Stephens face breaking into a satisfied grin.
Thats family for you! The house will be bursting!
At dinner everyone gathers around the long table Stephen and Mikey built years ago. Theres enough room for everyone.
Remember that story about the fake parents? Mikey says thoughtfully. The one the constable still tells the youngsters?
How could I forget, Poppy smiles. Jones still uses it as a lesson.
And I thought: what if they really were my real parents? What if I had to leave? Mikey continues. Even then Id have stayed, because family isnt about blood. Its about all this, he gestures around the table.
Dont get your wife all emotional now, Stephen grumbles, though his eyes twinkle.
Uncle Mikey, tell us again how you and Aunt Poppy were found! Vanya demands.
Again?! Kate laughs. Hes heard it a hundred times!
Tell us! the boy insists.
Mikey begins the tale. I sit watching my children, daughtersinlaw, grandson, Stephenwho grows dearer to me each year.
I once thought I could never have children. Life gave me a gifttwo babies that appeared in the garden between the carrot rows. Now our home overflows with laughter, voices, life.
Grandma, when I grow up, will I find someone in the garden too? Vanya asks.
We all laugh.
Maybe, I pat his head. Life is full of miracles. Keep your heart open, and love will find you.
The sun sets behind the old apple tree, painting it pinkthe very tree where it all began. It stands tall, just as we have, rooted in love.
And I know this isnt the end. Ahead lie many happy days, new smiles, new stories. A real familyalive, growing, its roots deep in love.
