The taxi hummed softly as its tires glided over the rain-slicked autumn roads. The elderly driver steered leisurely through the familiar streets of London, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror at his passengers.
A young woman cradled a baby, no more than six months old, in her arms. The address she had given him—a children’s home—left him uneasy.
The couple seemed happy and content: he, a tall, well-built officer in the uniform of a Royal Air Force lieutenant, and she… simply radiant, with sky-blue eyes and golden hair cascading over her shoulders.
“James, the flowers!” she reminded him, turning to the officer.
“Don’t worry, Emily, I remember,” he replied before addressing the driver, “Sir, could you stop by the florist?”
The officer stepped out, unfazed by the wind, and strode into the shop. The driver watched him go before asking, “Your husband?”
“My husband,” she beamed, adjusting the baby’s knitted cap.
“Lovely child, and you both seem well. Why the children’s home, then?” There was a hint of disapproval in his voice.
At first, the young mother didn’t grasp his meaning. When it dawned on her, her eyes widened in shock. “Goodness! What on earth are you implying?”
“Just wondering… You never know these days.” Then, softening, he asked again, “So why are you going there?”
“I grew up there. Seven years, till I was adopted. And my husband—James—spent four years there too.”
“Under Mrs. Margaret Williams?” The driver broke into a broad grin. “Well, I’ll be! And you’re straight off the train to see her? That’s wonderful!”
“You know her?” The woman studied him with interest.
“Who doesn’t?”
The driver was about to launch into a lengthy explanation when the taxi door opened, and a magnificent bouquet of roses appeared, held by the officer.
“Emily, look what they had in this city!” James said proudly.
“Oh, Jamie!” Emily gasped. “You’ve never given me roses like these!”
“Don’t be cross, Emily,” he chuckled. “I told you—these are special! When was the last time we were here together?”
“Together? Eleven years ago…”
…Mrs. Margaret Williams sat at her desk, wrapped in a cosy woollen shawl. The building was warm, but the shawl was so soft and comforting that she couldn’t bring herself to take it off.
She had a rare quiet moment: the older children were at school, and the little ones were napping. The home was unusually peaceful, save for the clinking of dishes in the kitchen as lunch was prepared.
Margaret flipped through an album of photographs—faces of children, boys and girls, now grown. She remembered each by name, still calling them by their childhood endearments—Tommy, Lottie, sweet Billy…
And here—Emily Findlay. No, now Emily Whitmore. A kind-hearted man, Robert Hughes, had adopted her—fifteen years ago, if memory served.
And Jamie. Where had he gone? Finished Sandhurst, then joined the RAF. Here he was in his cadet uniform—once dreaming of being a vet, just like Dr. Andrew. Andrew had taken a piece of her heart too, the cheeky lad, but it was all worth it…
Muffled footsteps echoed in the hallway. A knock at the door.
“Come in!” Then—”Oh, goodness!” A colossal bouquet of roses. And who was behind it?
“Jamie! Oh, my boy!” The bouquet tumbled to the floor as she rushed forward. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Mrs. Williams, I’m right here. Didn’t write much, but… I wasn’t alone. This is my wife. And our daughter—Margaret.”
“Emily… is it really you? Jamie, hold the baby—I must hug her!”
Once the excitement settled and hearts steadied, they shed their coats, laid the sleeping child on the sofa, and gathered around the table.
“How did you two keep your love alive all these years apart? Robert spoke fondly of you, Jamie.”
“I gave Emily my word, Mrs. Williams. And I keep my promises.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she laughed warmly. “Emily, how have you been?”
“Blissfully happy! I studied medicine, like my father. Jamie and I were never truly apart, even when we were. And this little one—Margaret. We never debated the name.”
“Hello, Maggie,” Margaret cooed over the sleeping baby. “May you have all the joy in the world. Has Robert met his granddaughter yet?”
“Not yet. We came straight here,” Emily admitted sheepishly.
“Ring him from me, else he and Helen might faint from surprise!” Margaret turned to Jamie with a sly smile. “Now, say hello to Mama. She’s been waiting.”
Jamie turned—and froze. A tortoiseshell cat sat a yard away, gazing at him unblinking. His chest tightened, just as it had years ago in that derelict house where he’d first found her.
Then the cat blinked slowly, stood, and padded toward him. She leaped onto his lap, stretched up, and pressed her paws against his lieutenant’s insignia before nuzzling his face, purring incessantly.
“Mama,” Jamie whispered, burying his face in her fur. “I never forgot you. If it weren’t for you…”
“She’s mothered half the children here,” Margaret explained. “When she fell ill last year, the whole home waited outside the vet clinic till Dr. Andrew operated. All’s well now, thank heavens.”
Little Maggie stirred on the sofa. With an apologetic chirp, Mama hopped down and curled beside her, the child calming instantly.
“Retirement’s nearing for us both,” Margaret sighed. “Robert’s old dog, Brother, is already lounging by the radiator. Time we joined him.”
“Brother,” Emily smiled. “How I’ve missed him.”
They stayed till evening, sharing lunch with the children. The boys crowded Jamie, begging tales of flights and service. Nearly all vowed to become pilots.
“It’s not easy, lads,” Jamie told them. “But hold fast to your dreams—whatever they are. Just be people Mrs. Williams can proudly call her own.”
Mama watched Jamie fondly, her green eyes slitted, purring in agreement.
They left at dusk, promising to return before leaving town—and whenever they visited hereafter.
“My word on it,” Jamie vowed.
Margaret and Emily laughed, while Mama watched him go, just as she had watched so many children—soothing their tears, guarding their dreams.
**A home isn’t just a place; it’s the love that waits for you, no matter how far you roam.**.
