**Diary Entry**
The moment Emily tugged the scrap of cloth poking from the bushes, she knew. It was an old, faded baby blanket, and she pulled harder. Then she frozethere, in the corner of the blanket, lay a tiny child.
At dawn, Emily had a strange dream. Her son, Alfie, stood on the porch, knocking at the door. She startled awake, scrambled barefoot down the hall, and flung the door open.
Silence. No one. Shed had dreams like this beforealways a cruel trickbut still, she always rushed to the door. This time was no different. She peered into the empty night, heart pounding.
The quiet of the small hours wrapped around her. She sat on the porch step, trying to calm herself. Then, a sounda faint rustling, a whimper.
“Another stray kitten,” she muttered, heading toward the blackberry bushes where shed freed them before.
But it wasnt a kitten. The moment she tugged that scrap of fabric, she knew. The blanket was damp, the child inside naked, wriggling free. A boy, his umbilical cord still fresh.
He was too weak to cry, shivering and hungry. When she lifted him, he let out a feeble whimper.
She didnt thinkjust clutched him to her chest and ran inside. Wrapped him in a clean sheet, tucked him under a warm quilt, heated milk in a pan. Found an old baby bottle, one shed used to nurse a lamb last spring. The boy drank greedily, then slept, warm and full.
Morning came, but Emily barely noticed. She was forty now, the village calling her “Auntie.” Her husband and son had been lost in the war, one after the other, leaving her alone. Shed never grown used to the silence.
Now, she didnt know what to do. The baby slept soundly, his tiny breaths steady. She thought of her neighbour, Margareta woman whod never mourned a husband or child, who lived as she pleased, never clinging to anyone.
Margaret stood on her porch, wrapped in a shawl, basking in the sun. She listened to Emilys story, then scoffed.
“Why would you bother?” And with that, she turned inside. Through the window, Emily saw the curtain twitchanother admirer slipping out unseen.
*Why?* Emily echoed in her mind.
Back home, she packed a bagfed the child, bundled him, grabbed food for the road. At the bus stop, a lorry pulled up.
“Hospital?” the driver asked, nodding at the bundle.
“Hospital,” she answered quietly.
At the orphanage, as they filled out forms, unease gnawed at her. This felt wrongagainst her conscience. The hollowness in her chest was the same as when shed learned of her husbands death, then Alfies.
“Whats his name?” the matron asked.
“Name?” Emily paused. Then, surprising herself, she said, “Alfie.”
“Lovely name,” the matron said. “Plenty of Oliver and Sophie here. But this? Left like rubbish. Some womenno better than cuckoos!”
The words werent meant for her, yet they stung. That evening, back in her empty house, she lit a lamp.
Then she saw itAlfies old blanket, still damp. She picked it up, sat on the bed, fingers tracing the fabric.
Then she felt ita small knot in the corner. Inside, a scrap of paper and a simple tin cross on a string.
*”Dear kind woman, forgive me. I cant keep this child. By tomorrow, Ill be gone. Dont let my boy go without lovegive him what I cannot.”*
A date followed. And then Emily broke. She wept as if mourning anew, tears she thought long spent.
She remembered her wedding day, how happy shed been. Then Alfies birthmore joy. The village women had envied her light.
But the war took it all. First her husband in 42, then Alfie that same October. The light went out.
Now, sleepless again, she paced the house, listening to the night. By morning, she was back at the orphanage.
The matron wasnt surprised. “Take him,” she said. “Well sort the papers.”
Wrapped in a quilt, Alfie in her arms, Emily walked out lighterthe weight of years lifting.
Back home, the photographs of her husband and son watched from the wall. But now, their faces werent stern or grievingthey seemed soft. Approving.
“Ill need your help,” she whispered to them.
Twenty years passed. Alfie grew into a fine man. Every girl fancied him, but he chose the one who stole his heartLucy.
When he brought her home, Emily knewher boy was a man now. She blessed them.
They married, built a home, had children. The youngest they named Alfie.
One night, Emily woke to noise outside. Old habit sent her to the door. A storm brewed, lightning flickering.
“Thank you, son,” she whispered into the dark. “Now I have three Alfiesand I love you all.”
The old oak by the porch, planted by her husband when Alfie was born, rustled. Lightning flashedbright as a childs smile.
**Lesson:** Life takes, but sometimeswhen we least expect itit gives back. Not to replace whats lost, but to remind us love never truly leaves.
