The young father named his daughter Snowdrop because she was born on a winter’s day, with thick flakes of snow drifting down.
“Just as light and soft as my little girl,” thought Arthur as he drove to the hospital where his wife, Elaine, had just given birth. He knew his responsibilities would grow now.
Elaine loved the name—it suited their fair-haired daughter with her gray eyes perfectly.
Snowdrop grew up surrounded by love. Her parents doted on their “Snowflake,” as her father often called her. She attended nursery, nearly six now, convinced she was quite grown-up. Even though Mrs. Clark, the neighbor across the hall, still called her “little one.”
“I’m not little anymore,” Snowdrop would protest, and the old woman would only smile and nod.
One sleepless night, Snowdrop lay quietly in bed, listening to her parents’ hushed conversation. She liked eavesdropping—it always brought interesting secrets. Not that she meant to, but when sleep wouldn’t come…
Her mother and father were discussing the pregnancy. Everyone knew a baby brother was coming soon. Snowdrop had even picked a name for him—Teddy, after a well-behaved boy at nursery. She assumed all Teds were good.
They spoke of a cesarean section. Her father’s voice was uneasy.
“I’ve heard babies born that way might lag behind at first. And you’ll have to go to the hospital early. Who’ll look after Snowdrop?”
“Arthur, let’s not borrow trouble,” Elaine murmured.
Snowdrop didn’t understand, but sleep took her anyway. Another night, she overheard them planning her birthday gift.
“Golden earrings,” Elaine suggested. “We’ve already pierced her ears.”
“Isn’t it too soon for such expensive gifts?” Arthur hesitated.
“Not at all. She’ll be a big sister soon—she should feel grown-up. I’ve found a delicate pair.”
Snowdrop grinned and drifted off. The days until her birthday dragged, but the night before, she slept soundly.
“Happy birthday, darling,” Elaine whispered the next morning, one hand on her swollen belly as she held out a small blue box.
Her father beamed beside her. “Happy birthday, our little Snowflake.”
But then Elaine gasped, clutching her stomach. “Arthur—the car. We need to go. Mrs. Clark will watch Snowdrop.”
Snowdrop’s heart sank. Her special day, and now Mrs. Clark? She refused to go. Let the old woman come here instead.
Her parents left. Mrs. Clark fussed over her, coming and going all day, but by evening, she’d had enough.
“I’m worn out running back and forth. You’ll sleep at mine tonight. Your father will fetch you later.”
Snowdrop wanted to argue, but the flat was growing dark, so she agreed.
Her father returned the next morning—haggard, hollow-eyed.
“What’s happened?” Mrs. Clark gasped.
Arthur nodded, tears frozen in his eyes. He couldn’t speak.
“Papa, where’s Teddy?”
“Gone. With your mother,” he barely managed.
That day, the father who’d never allowed her in their bed now pulled her close, tucking her under the covers where Elaine should have been. She lay stiff as a board. Before, when Arthur worked nights, Elaine would let her sleep beside her.
Snowdrop barely remembered the funeral. First, they went to the hospital—Arthur told her to play in the courtyard while he went inside. Later, she peered at her mother, pale and still, but Teddy was nowhere.
Afterwards, she clutched her ears—one earring was missing. She wept. It was unbearable. Her mother’s last gift, gone.
Three months passed. Arthur was restless. He told no one that he’d refused his son. The boy had lived, and the matron had pleaded with him.
“Are you certain? I understand—you’ve lost your wife—but surely there’s help. Grandparents? A nanny? You needn’t decide now.”
“I have a six-year-old daughter. No family. No time. I must work.”
“You’ll regret this,” she said firmly. “Once his records are sealed, they’re gone. What name did you want?”
“Teddy. Michael. It’s what Snowdrop wanted.”
Time wore on. Arthur’s guilt festered. He returned to the hospital, begging for information, but the matron kept her word. Defeated, he turned to leave—then a nurse caught him.
“I know something about your son.”
His breath caught.
“After your wife passed, another woman gave birth the same night. Her baby was stillborn. When she woke, they gave her yours.”
“Do you know her name? Her address?”
“No. But I remember—her name was Snowdrop.”
He pressed money into the nurse’s hand and stumbled out. Exhausted, he sat on a bench, then noticed a jeweler’s shop.
“Snowdrop needs a new chain. She wears the lone earring on a string—won’t part with it.”
Inside, gold gleamed under glass. Near the pawn counter, a young woman approached.
“Can I pledge this earring? It’s not mine—I found it. I’ll reclaim it.”
“Snowdrop Spencer,” the clerk confirmed.
Arthur stiffened. The same name as his daughter. She stood alone, no pram in sight. On her palm rested an earring identical to Snowdrop’s.
“Forgive me,” he interrupted. “My daughter lost one just like that. Would you sell it?”
She turned—young, pretty, wide-eyed. “I found it near the hospital. I need the money.”
“Let’s step outside.”
There, he handed her notes. Too much.
“Thank you—I must hurry. My son’s with a neighbor. My little Teddy’s quiet, so I slipped out.”
“Teddy? How old?”
“Three months. The nurses said he looked like a teddy bear.”
“Where do you live?”
“A dormitory. I’m in nursing school. My father’s strict—he’d throw me out. The matron harasses me, but where else can I go?”
Pieces clicked. This was his son. But how to explain?
“Snowdrop, I have a daughter your age. We’ve a spare room—yours, rent-free.”
She blinked. “Just like that?”
“Come. Meet her.”
Why she agreed, she’d never know. But they fetched Teddy, reunited the earring, and Snowdrop danced with joy. A new mother—also named Snowdrop!—and her brother returned.
Tests proved Teddy was Arthur’s son. Within a year, he and Snowdrop married.
“Now I’ve two Snowflakes,” he joked.
His daughter believed her mother Elaine had sent them—a new mother, a brother found. On her first day of school, she marched proudly, hair in plaits with big bows, clutching flowers as her parents waved.
Arthur adored his toddling son, who greeted him with gummy smiles. And they were happy.
