The Fateful Encounter
Elizabeth married William soon after graduating from university. Their love burned so fiercely that the world seemed made for them alone. Seeing their happiness, Elizabeth’s parents helped the young couple buy a spacious flat in Manchester.
One room they carefully set up as a nursery. They bought two small cots, already imagining their future child sleeping soundly in one. They had even chosen a name—Benjamin. For some reason, Elizabeth and William were certain their firstborn would be a boy. If it were a girl, they secretly settled on Emily, but to everyone else, they spoke only of Benjamin, as though a daughter were but a distant thought.
When Elizabeth’s grandmother, Margaret, heard of this, she scolded her sharply:
“Lizzie, you mustn’t do that! Naming a child before it’s born is bad luck! A name should only be given after the babe arrives.”
“Gran, don’t be silly,” Elizabeth laughed, brushing off the warning.
But three years passed, and the nursery remained empty, as though cursed. Elizabeth could not conceive. Medicines, doctors, endless tests—nothing worked. Hope melted like winter frost, leaving only cold emptiness.
Margaret, watching her granddaughter’s sorrow, persuaded her to visit a wise woman, a local healer known as Aunt Mabel. Elizabeth didn’t believe in such things, but despair made her agree. “What if?” the thought flickered.
Aunt Mabel listened, then fixed Elizabeth with deep, unsettling eyes and said,
“You and your husband dreamed of a son—Benjamin. But the name came before the child. Someone took that name. Now, both you and the one who bears it are unhappy. Make that child happy, and happiness will find you.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched. Somehow, the old woman’s words rang true.
“Aunt Mabel, what must I do?” Elizabeth’s voice trembled.
“You’ll know,” the healer replied cryptically. “When you do, joy will fill your home.”
Another year slipped by. Still no child. Elizabeth nearly forgot the healer’s words, though a fragile hope lingered. William kept faith, though sadness often shadowed his eyes.
One day, Elizabeth found herself across town on an errand. As she passed an old puppet theatre, a bus marked “Children’s Home” pulled up. Little ones, three or four years old, tumbled out, chattering like sparrows. Elizabeth paused, enchanted by their laughter. Then a sharp cry cut through—
“Benja-a-min!”
A small boy darted into the road after his cap. Elizabeth, the closest, lunged forward, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him close, her heart pounding.
“Benjamin!” she gasped, unsure why she’d said his name.
“Mummy,” the boy whispered, wrapping his thin arms around her neck.
A carer rushed over. “Thank heavens!” She tried to take him, but the boy clung to Elizabeth, refusing to let go.
“Benjamin, shall we watch the puppets?” Elizabeth murmured, still shaking from the scare.
“Why did he call me Mummy?” she asked the carer, unable to look away from the child’s wide eyes.
“They call anyone they like that,” the woman said gently. Then, after a pause, “Do you have children of your own?”
“No,” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “William and I—we’ve longed for…”
The carer’s gaze softened. “Benjamin’s a lovely boy. Come visit us.”
That evening, Elizabeth met William with tear-stained cheeks.
“What’s happened, love?” He pulled her into his arms.
“Near the puppet theatre, a bus from the children’s home arrived,” she began, fighting tears. “A boy ran into the road—I caught him. He hugged me and called me Mummy. And his name… was Benjamin.”
She broke down, burying her face in his shoulder.
“William, let’s bring him home. He could be our son.”
William paused, then smiled. “How old is he?”
“Three or four. He’s so sweet, so bright. When I held him, something—changed inside me.”
“Alright, love,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the home and see.”
The next day, armed with toys and sweets, they visited. The matron, Mrs. Thornton, greeted them warmly. She’d heard of the incident.
“Come in,” she said. “Thank you for yesterday, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, steadying herself. “This is my husband, William. We’d like to see Benjamin.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Thornton left, returning with the boy.
The moment Benjamin saw Elizabeth, he cried, “Mummy!” and raced into her arms.
“Benjamin, my darling,” Elizabeth whispered, tears falling freely.
William unpacked toys—a toy lorry, a stuffed bear, a wooden train. Benjamin’s eyes sparkled.
Mrs. Thornton beckoned Elizabeth aside. “Let’s talk in my office.”
Half an hour later, Elizabeth returned with papers. William and Benjamin were still deep in play.
“We’re friends now,” William grinned.
“Benjamin, bedtime,” Mrs. Thornton said, but the boy looked fearfully at Elizabeth.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Elizabeth promised. “Will you wait?”
He nodded, hugging her tightly.
The adoption process began. Elizabeth and William spent every free day with Benjamin, who greeted them with radiant joy.
One Friday, William arrived alone. He scooped Benjamin up.
“Would you like to visit our home?”
“Yes!” The boy’s face lit up.
They drove to the flat, where Elizabeth waited.
“Mummy!” Benjamin cried, flinging himself at her. “We came in the car with Daddy!”
Inside, he marvelled at the nursery. “Tonight, you’ll sleep here,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
Dinner was a wonder—no stern rules, just warmth. No indifferent carers, only parents who adored him.
The next day, they spoiled him—a haircut, new clothes, visits to his grandmothers. On Sunday, reluctantly, they returned him to the home, promising he’d stay forever soon.
When the day came, they arrived together. Elizabeth went to finalise the papers while William handed Benjamin a bag of sweets.
“Today’s your last day here. Share these with your friends.”
The boy did, the other children watching with bittersweet smiles. Their friend was leaving for a world of love and family.
A year later, Benjamin thrived in nursery school, collected each evening by his mother or grandmother. Then one day, an ambulance took Elizabeth away. Benjamin knew hospitals were for the ill, and fear gripped him.
She didn’t return the next day. William fetched him, and for three days, his grandmothers fussed, glancing often at the window. Then one morning—
“They’re here!”
The door opened. William entered, cradling a tiny bundle that squeaked softly. Beside him stood Elizabeth, radiant.
His grandmother unfolded the blanket. “Look—your baby sister!”
“What’s her name?” the other teased, pretending to scold.
“Emily!” Benjamin declared proudly.
“My darling boy!” Elizabeth hugged him, tears of joy shining. “How I’ve missed you…”
