Emma had been planning it for yearsadopting a child from a childrens home. Her husband of six years, who never managed to start a family of his own, had left her for a younger, more successful partner. Emma felt drained by marriage; she no longer had the strength or desire to try again, to find someone who would be through thick and thin. She decided enough was enough. If she was to spend her energy and affection, it would be on a child who truly needed it, not on another companion.
So she set to work. She learned the procedures at the local councils social services department, gathered the required paperwork, and then faced the hardest part: locating the little boy who would become her son, the continuation of her 38yearold life.
She didnt want a newborn; she worried she could no longer cope with sleepless nights, endless swaddling and soothing. Instead she drove to the childrens home hoping to find a three or fouryearold little chap who could become her own.
On the doubledecker bus she felt the nervous flutter of a first date, oblivious to the true spring that had settled over Manchestersoft, cool air and a bright, unforgiving sun. The bus rattled on the bends as Emmas mind raced with thoughts of the child she had yet to meet, a child already born into the world but still unaware of the destiny she imagined for him.
Through the windows the city bustled: cars glinting in the sunshine, pedestrians hurrying to unknown destinations. No one could see that Emma was heading toward her own happiness. She turned away from the other passengers, staring at the glass, yet she didnt watch the street because a smile already played on her lips, directed at the son she would meet in just a few minutes.
The stop was labeled Childrens Home. She stepped out and immediately saw a ageing manor with cracked columns, the oncewhite plaster now faded to a dull, camouflagelike hue, as if trying to hide its former grandeur.
Inside, she explained her purpose to a stern guard who pointed her toward the headmistresss office. The headmistress was a matronly figure, almost elderly, wrapped in a handknitted cardigan that was pulling at its own seams. Though a little unkempt, her eyes revealed a woman who knew exactly where she belonged.
Shall we begin? the headmistress asked, rising from her chair. Emma followed obediently down a long corridor lined with darkblue panels.
The younger group is in the playroom now, so well go there, the headmistress called over her shoulder as she pushed open the door. Emma and the matron stepped into a carpeted room filled with tiny lockers and scattered toys. A caregiver sat at a windowside table, scribbling notes and occasionally glancing up to keep an eye on the chaos.
As soon as the adults entered, the children swarmed the doors. They clung to the womens legs, lifted their faces, and shouted in a chorus of youthful certainty:
This is my mum! Over here!
No, this is my mum! I saw her in a dream last night!
Pick me! Im your daughter!
The headmistress absentmindedly patted the kids heads, giving Emma brief, whispered descriptions of each. Emma felt overwhelmedshe wanted to take them all, especially the boy who sat apart on a tiny stool by the window, watching the world beyond.
Something drew her toward him. She knelt, placed a hand gently on his head, and peered into his slightly slanted, indeterminate eyes. The boy looked nothing like the picture Emma had painted in her mind. He stared back and, with a shy confidence, said, You wont pick me anyway.
Why do you think that? Emma asked, keeping her hand on his crown.
Because Im always sniffling and getting sick, he answered, and I have a little sister, Ellie, in the baby group. I run to her every day, stroke her hair, so she remembers she has a big brother. My names Victor, and without Ellie Im lost.
A sudden run of a snotty drip escaped his nose, confirming his words. In that instant Emma realised she had spent her whole life waiting for a child like Victorsniffling, often ill, with a sister shed never met but already loved in her imagination.
Emma left the home later that day with a new sense of purpose, understanding that love does not require a perfect picture, only a willingness to cherish the imperfect reality. She learned that true happiness comes not from seeking an ideal partner, but from opening ones heart to those who need it most, and that the smallest gestures of care can fill a life with the deepest fulfillment.
