A Miracle Happened
Mary stepped out of the Royal London Maternity Hospital, her little son in her arms. There had been no miracle. Her parents did not come to meet her. The spring sun shone gently, she wrapped herself in the coat that now hung loose on her, grabbed the bag with her things and papers in one hand, shifted her baby to a more comfortable position with the other, and walked on.
She did not know where to go. Her parents had steadfastly refused to let her bring her child home; her mother even demanded she sign adoption papers. But Mary herself had grown up in an orphanageher own mother had left her behindand she had promised herself she would never do the same to her own child, no matter what it cost her.
She had later been adopted by a kind couple, who were good to her, treating her as one of their own, even spoiling her a bit and shielding her from the hardships of independence. They werent well-off and were often unwell. Of course, she blamed herself for her son not having a father; she saw that now.
He had seemed so dependable, promising he would take her to meet his parents, but when Mary told him she was expecting, he claimed he wasnt ready for nappies and late-night crying. He simply walked out, never answered his phone againsurely, he had blocked her number.
Mary sighed. No one was readynot the childs father, not her parents. Only she stood ready to bear responsibility for her son.
She sat on a bench, letting the sunlight warm her face. Where could she go? Shed heard there were shelters for mothers like herself, but she had been too shy to ask for directions, hoping her parents would come to their senses and fetch her. But they never came.
She decided to follow the plan she had tucked away in her heartto take a coach to a small village where her grandmother lived, hoping she would take her in. Mary would help her in the garden while the child benefit lasted, then find a job. Surely, fortune would smile on her, eventually.
So she would carry this outfirst, shed check her phone for coach departures to the countryside. Grandmothers were usually kind, perhaps luck wouldnt bypass her after all. Adjusting her sleeping son in her arms, she reached into her pocket for her battered old mobile and almost collided with a car crossing the street.
The driver, a tall silver-haired man, leapt from the vehicle, shouting at Mary for not watching where she walked, warning she might get herselfand her babykilled, leaving him to rot in prison in his old age.
Terrified, tears welled up in her eyes; her baby sensed her fear, woke, and started to cry. The man softened a little, asked where she was off to with the babe. Mary, sobbing, admitted she had nowhere to go.
Come, get in the car, he said gruffly. Youll come with me, catch your breath, and well see whats to be done. Dont just stand there, your little ones upset. My names Charles Pendleton, by the way. Whats yours?
Mary, she murmured.
Come on, Mary, let me help you in.
He drove the young mother and child to his flat. Once there, he showed her to a room so she could feed her baby.
He owned a spacious three-bedroom flat. Mary didnt have anything to change the baby into. She asked Mr. Pendleton if he could buy some nappies, offering him the few pounds that remained in her purse.
But the man refused, saying he had no one else to spend his money on.
He dashed upstairs to his neighbour, a lady doctor, hoping she might be in.
Luckily, she was home that day. Making a quick call and discussing the situation, she wrote a long list of necessities and handed it over to Mr. Pendleton.
When he returned laden with shopping, he found Mary asleep, sitting upright with her head slumped forward, while the baby, limbs free of his blanket, gazed up at the ceiling. After washing his hands, Mr. Pendleton picked up the boy so his mother could rest a little.
He had just shut the bedroom door behind him when Mary awoke. Not seeing her child, she cried out in alarm. Mr. Pendleton returned, baby in arms, gently rebuking her for panickinghed only wanted her to get some sleep. He showed her everything hed bought for both mother and child, suggesting she change the baby.
He told her his kindly neighbourthe doctorwould drop by later and explain what needed doing for the baby, and would arrange for the local GP to visit the next day.
Then he began to talk.
Theres no need for you to go looking for a village or a grandmother. Stay here. Theres plenty of room, and I could use the company. Im a widower, with no children or grandchildren. I have my pensionand I still work a bit. The solitude weighs heavily on meId be glad to have someone about the house.
Did you have children, sir? Mary asked.
He nodded. Yes, I had a son. I worked shifts up in Yorkshirehalf the year there, half here in London. My boy was at university, seeing a lovely girl. In his final year, they decided to wed, as his sweetheart was expecting. They waited for me to return from my shift to hold the wedding. But my boy loved motorbikeslost control and crashed. Died right before I got home. I came back for a funeral, not a wedding.
My wife fell gravely ill after burying our son. Through all this, I lost touch with his fiancée, though I kept her photo and knew she expected my grandchild. As much as I searched, I never found her. So you see, Mary, I ask you to stay. At least in my old age, I might know what family feels like again. By the way, what did you name your son?
I dont know why, but I wanted to call him Benedict. Ive always liked the name, though its uncommon these days.
Benedict? Mary, that was my sons name! I never told you. Well, youve made this old man very glad. Will you stay?
Id be grateful. I was an orphan, adopted, but my adoptive parents wouldnt take in my son. Thats why they left me at the hospital. If it werent for them, I dont know where Id have ended up; they gave me an education, a full life. Though as an orphan, Id have been given a council flat. My own mother left me at the gates of the childrens home, with nothing but a chain and locket wrapped in my blanket.
Well, off you go and get changedIve bought you some clothes too. Well see to the baby and get on with housework. The babys tub needs a good scrubmy neighbour will show us how to give him a proper bath. And youll need a proper meal so you can keep up your milk.
When Mary stepped out in her new dress, Mr. Pendleton noticed the chain around her neck and asked if that was the one her mother left. Mary nodded and pulled out the locket. At that moment, the floor seemed to float away beneath the old man, and had Mary not rushed over, he might have collapsed.
Regaining his composure, he asked to look at the locket. Holding it, he inquired if shed ever tried to open it. Mary confessed there were no visible clasps.
Mr. Pendleton said, I had this very locket made for my son. It opens in a special way. He showed her. The locket sprung apart into two halves. Inside was a tiny lock of hair.
Thats my sons hair; I put it in myself. So, youre my granddaughter, then? It seems Fate was not blind after all!
Lets have a proper test done, so youll be sure you are my grandfather, Mary suggested.
Absolutely not! he answered, smiling through tears. Youre my granddaughter, Benedicts my great-grandson, and thats settled. You look a bit like him tooI kept catching it, something familiar in your face. I even have a picture of your mother. I can show you your family!
Author: Sophia CorlanHe led her to the mantelpiece, where a silver-framed photograph stood. Mary gazed at the image: a young woman with kind eyesher own eyesstood beside a tall young man who cradled her round and beamed at the camera. On the back, in careful handwriting, it read: To Dad, with loveEmma & Benedict.
Mary pressed her fingers to the glass, hardly daring to breathe. Charles Pendleton set a gentle hand on her shoulder.
This is your family, Mary. This has always been your family.
A fresh wave of tears broke over Mary, but this time they were differentwarm, grateful. Charles reached for Benedict, the baby squirming and bright-eyed in his arms.
I once lost everything, Mary, he whispered. But somehow, by some miracle, Ive been given another chance.
Sunlight spilled into the room, turning the dust motes to gold. Mary drew close to her grandfather, baby Benedict cuddled between them. For the first time, she sensed the broken circle mending itself, a future quietly rebuilding where hope had seemed lost.
Outside, buses rumbled and people hurried through their days, but inside, laughterfragile at first, then fullbroke the silence.
And for Mary, the miracle she longed for had finally come: not in grand gestures, but in the gentle joining of hands, the discovery of a family shed never known was hersa place, at last, to call home.
