March 12
My life began with a refusal I never asked for. It was a plain, unremarkable rejection, yet it set everything in motion. My mother gave birth in the dead of night, labor lasting an hour, then, without even checking if I was breathing, wrapped me in a filthy rag and told our boarder to toss the bundle into the rubbish bin.
Morning the bin gets collected, and thats the end of it. Get moving before anyone wakes! she shouted. Fortunately the people she feared rose early, and the boarderthough not the sharpest laddidnt chuck the bundle into the bin. He set it aside, covered it with an old coat someone had discarded.
That night I stayed warm enough, and at dawn Aunt Valerie took her restless terrier, Molly, out for a walk. Molly, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to relieve herself, barked furiously; there was no calming her. Valerie, exasperated, clamped a wet nose of the dog between her fingers, silencing her for a moment, then hurried out in a bathrobe and slippers, muttering at her husband about his lackluster anniversary present.
Molly, thrilled at the sudden freedom, sprinted around the yard, did her business, and then froze, whining softly as she drifted toward the rubbish bins. Valerie called after her, Where are you off to, you little terror? Stop! Who are you talking to? But Molly ignored her, bolting to the bins where a small, shivering bundle lay.
When she lifted the rag, my tiny cry startled Valerie so much she clutched her chest. Lord! What is that? What have you found? Her curiosity overrode caution; she tossed the coat aside, peeled back the cloth and let out a wail that echoed across the courtyard.
Her husband, Uncle Mike, was a heavy sleeper. Neither Mollys barking nor the weekendonly power drill from the neighbours could rouse him. Only his wife’s sobs could. Val, Im coming! he muttered halfasleep, stumbling out in the bright floral underwear his wife had sewn for him, still halfdazed but certain one thing: his wife needed help.
Seeing me, his eyes snapped open fully, and any thoughts of his earlier plans vanished. He took a sandwich, tucked me into his wife’s warm robe, and rushed to the front steps, shouting at poor Molly, Home! An ambulance arrived promptly; I was taken away.
Aunt Valerie wept on her husbands shoulder for a long while, then, gathering herself, set about making breakfast, feeding Molly almost the entire remaining supply of sausage out of sheer pity. I still wonder whether she felt more compassion for the dog, the found infant, or herselfa mystery even to her.
It seemed that would be the end of my story. Returning to the yard that almost claimed my life felt pointless. Yet fate, that mischievous playwright, had other plans. She seemed oddly fond of a boy who clung to life with a tenacity even adults sometimes lack. I lay in a white hospital ceiling, silently gathering strength, eating with appetite, sleeping soundly, charming the nurses with my calm.
A gold baby, not a crybaby! So tranquil, hardly a whimper. Others wail, but this one only calls when truly needed. Who would dare refuse such a gift?! the nurse said, halfjoking. I could not answer. I did not even know I had a mother, let alone a father who had deliberately scattered his children across the country, indifferent to their fate. Those distant parents faded into oblivion; a nurse gave me the surname Smith, the care home assigned the forename Oliver.
Even the staff at the little ward adored me, spoiling me because I never demanded anything, just waited patiently for attention. Hell be snapped up soonhandsome, healthy. Perhaps a family will appear, the carers whispered.
And they did, though briefly. Six months after finalising paperwork, my new mother decided she wasnt cut out to raise someone elses child and returned me to the place Id been taken from, as if I were a toy found unsuitable. My new father didnt protest; he was elated at the prospect of finally becoming a real dad after ten childless years, despite doctors bleak predictions that nature denied him that role.
All the same, I never grasped the whirlwind of events that had unfolded. I only felt the loss of nightly cuddles and lullabies, a sorrow that faded quickly, as people tend to remember the bad more than the good. With childhoods limited understanding, I stared again at the white ceiling, ate my porridge obediently, and smiled whenever someone stroked my cheek, even if the gesture felt foreign.
When I turned three, another family came. Im Oliver! I announced solemnly, extending my hand to the man who hoped to become my father. Hes a bit odd, isnt he? the man raised an eyebrow, glancing at his beautiful wife, Emma. No, no we need a healthy child. This boy doesnt fit.
What they didnt know was that I was merely trying to share the newest lesson my caretaker had taught me that morning. Shed placed me on the windowsill, traced the glass with a finger and said, See, Oliver, autumn is hererain weeps, leaves carpet the ground. Beautiful, isnt it? You were born in September, lad. Maybe fate will bring you a happy home soon. Good parents would be wonderful, wouldnt they?
Perhaps hearing those words nudged destiny. Those who had come to claim me turned away, and I, still unaware of who they truly were, forgot about them the next day.
Later, my caretaker, Valerie, decided to revisit the yard where Id first been found. There, she saw Aunt Val, still earlymorning walking Molly, standing by the bins, sighing heavilyher own story echoing mine.
When Valerie was younger, shed been a lively spirit, juggling study, work, and dreaming of a great love. She wasnt a striking beauty, but she never let that stop her from hoping. Her mother, ever practical, would fuss over dresses, telling her, If youre short, make the legs look longer; if youre plain, accentuate your hair, eyes, waist. A womans charm is how she carries herself, not just natures gifts. Those words stuck, and Valerie learned to dress well, to look at men not just for looks but for character. She finished university, got a job, and eventually bought a secondhand car to avoid the unreliable bus service of their small town.
She learned to drive quickly, found a reliable mechanicMikeand their romance blossomed: flowers, chocolates, meeting the parents. When she announced her engagement, the neighbours chimed, Val, congratulations! Mike is a good man, youre a perfect match. Years later, doctors told them they would never have children. They exchanged a sigh, held each others hands, and whispered, Well be fine, as long as were together. They never raised the subject again; they leaned on one another, finding comfort in shared silence.
Time eased the pain. Their parents passed, leaving a gentle melancholy and warm memories. A dog, Molly, entered their home, and life seemed to settleuntil the day Molly barked the very morning Oliver was born, shattering Valeries peace. Since then, shes been haunted by dreams of crisp autumn mornings, the scent of damp leaves, and a faint childs cry that calls her somewhere unknown. She wakes in a cold sweat, clutching a tiny head she once held for a single minute, before Mike drapes a robe over the baby and the feeling lingers.
Mike keeps quiet too, fearing hell upset Valerie further. He knows how terrifying it is to hold a strangers child, abandoned without remorse, while yearning to be a mother himself.
Then one terrible thing happened: Molly vanished. Valerie let her out as usual, bent to clean up after her, and returned to find the dog gone. She searched neighboring yards, called under every shrub, and phoned Mike to continue the hunt together. Molly was nowhere.
Two days and nights of frantic searching passed. On the third day, Molly returned, drenched from the rain but alive. Molly, my joy! Valerie scooped her up, Where have you been? Molly licked her nose, her shaggy head reminding Valerie of the tiny head shed once held. Mike! Valerie gasped, but Mike was already rushing in, sensing something crucial.
That night she finally spilled everything to him: her fears, her lingering dream, the boy she could not forgetthe one shed found on an autumn morning with Molly. Do you think theyve taken him into a family? she asked, wiping tears with a kitchen towel. I dont know, Mike replied. If they have, thank God. If not He let the sentence trail off, then embraced her, shoulder to shoulder, and said, Lets get some sleep. Tomorrow will be clearer.
Six months later, Oliver will meet the woman whose face hell never recall and reach out to a tall, steady man:
Im Oliver.
Mike will shake his hand gently, then glance at his wife and say, Stop whining, love. Its time to go home.
