A Father’s Promise
A young father named his daughter Wintersweet because she was born on a cold, snowy winter’s day, with thick flakes tumbling from the sky.
“Just as light and delicate as my little girl,” Arthur thought as he drove to the hospital to see his wife, Elaine, who had just given birth. He knew life would be busier now.
Elaine loved the name Wintersweet too. Their daughter was fair-haired with soft grey eyes, a perfect little snowflake.
Wintersweet grew up surrounded by love. Her parents adored her, and Arthur often called her “Snowdrop.” She attended nursery, nearly six years old now, and though she insisted she was a big girl, their neighbour, Mrs. Clara across the hall, still called her “little one.”
“But I’m not little anymore!” Wintersweet would protest, and Clara would just smile and nod.
One restless night, Wintersweet lay awake, listening to her parents talk. She loved overhearing their conversations—they always revealed something interesting. Tonight, they were discussing her mother’s pregnancy. The whole family knew a baby brother was on the way. Wintersweet had already picked a name for him: Teddy, after a sweet boy at nursery whom the teachers always praised.
Her parents mentioned something about a Caesarean section. Her father sounded worried.
“I’ve heard sometimes babies born that way take longer to catch up with others. And you’ll have to go to the hospital early. Who’ll look after Wintersweet?”
“Arthur, let’s not borrow trouble,” Elaine replied softly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Wintersweet didn’t understand but soon drifted off. The next time she overheard them, they were planning her birthday gift.
“Let’s get her gold earrings,” Elaine suggested. “We’ve already pierced her ears.”
Arthur hesitated. “Isn’t that too extravagant for a child? I’m not sure, love.”
“She’s about to be a big sister—she deserves something special. I’ve found a lovely delicate pair.”
Wintersweet, delighted, fell asleep quickly. The days dragged until her birthday. The night before, she slept soundly, eager for the morning.
“Happy birthday, darling,” Elaine said, resting a hand on her belly as she handed over a small blue box. Arthur stood beside her, beaming.
Wintersweet opened it and gasped—gold earrings! But just then, Elaine clutched her stomach.
“Arthur, start the car—we need to go to the hospital. Drop Wintersweet with Mrs. Clara first.” She winced in pain.
Wintersweet felt a pang of disappointment. It was her birthday, and now she had to stay with Mrs. Clara? She decided she wouldn’t go—Clara could come to their flat instead.
But when her parents left, Clara fed her and checked in throughout the day. By evening, she insisted, “I’m too tired to keep running back and forth. Come stay with me tonight. Your father will fetch you when he returns.” Reluctantly, Wintersweet agreed.
Arthur didn’t come back until morning—haggard, pale, and distraught.
“What happened to Elaine?” Clara gasped.
Arthur nodded stiffly, tears welling.
“Papa, where’s Teddy?”
“He’s gone. Both of them.” His voice cracked.
That night, Arthur—who never let Wintersweet sleep in their bed—pulled her close, tucking her under the covers where Elaine used to lie.
The funeral passed in a blur. Wintersweet barely remembered seeing her mother, pale and still, with no sign of Teddy. Afterward, she realised she’d lost an earring—her mother’s last gift. She sobbed, heartbroken.
Three months passed. Arthur was tormented. He’d refused to take his son home after Elaine’s death. The hospital matron had urged him to reconsider.
“Are you certain? You’re grieving, but there must be a way—family, a nanny? You don’t have to decide today.”
“I can’t. I’ve a six-year-old daughter to raise alone. I must work—how can I care for a newborn too?”
“You’ll regret this,” the matron said sternly. “What name did you choose for him?”
“Teddy. Michael. It’s what Wintersweet wanted.”
Now, Arthur ached for his son. He returned to the hospital, begging for information, but the matron refused. Desperate, he nearly offered money but feared she’d refuse.
As he left, a nurse caught up to him.
“I know something about your son.”
His heart leapt.
“The night your wife passed, another woman had a stillbirth. When she woke, they gave her your boy.”
“Her name? Address?”
“I don’t have access to records, but her name was Wintersweet.”
Stunned, Arthur handed her some cash.
He wandered until he spotted a jeweller’s. Wintersweet wore her remaining earring on a cord around her neck—he’d buy her a chain.
Inside, a young woman stood at the pawn counter.
“I found this earring. I don’t own it—I’ll redeem it later.” She handed over her ID.
“Wintersweet Spencer?” The clerk’s voice carried.
Arthur turned. The woman held an earring identical to his daughter’s.
“Excuse me,” he said. “My daughter lost one just like that. Could I buy it from you?”
She hesitated. “I found it near the hospital. I need the money.”
He paid her generously.
“Thank you. I must hurry—my son’s with a roommate.”
“Teddy? How old?”
“Three months. The nurses said he looked like a little bear, so I named him that.”
“Where do you live?”
“A dormitory. My father would disown me if he knew. The matron’s forcing me out—I’ve nowhere to go.”
The pieces fell into place.
“Wintersweet, my daughter’s name is Wintersweet too. We’ve a spare room—stay with us. No rent.”
She agreed, bewildered. They collected Teddy and drove home. When Arthur gave Wintersweet her earring, she wept with joy. She adored baby Teddy—and his mother’s name being Wintersweet felt like fate.
DNA tests confirmed Teddy was Arthur’s son. Within a year, he and Wintersweet married.
“Now I’ve two Snowdrops,” Arthur would say, smiling.
Their daughter, starting school soon, believed her mother Elaine had sent them this new Wintersweet—and Teddy, the brother she’d always wanted.
Arthur adored his son, who now toddled, grinning, to greet him after work.
They were happy. Entirely, wholly happy.
