Tanya knew right away when she tugged the scrap of cloth poking out from the bush. It turned out to be an old, faded baby blanket, and she pulled harder. Then she frozethere, in the corner of the blanket, lay a tiny child.
That morning, Tanya had a strange dream: her son, Alex, stood on the porch, knocking at the door. She jolted awake, scrambled up barefoot, and rushed to open it.
Silence. No one. Shed had dreams like this beforealways deceiving herbut every time, shed still fling the door wide open. This time was no different. She stared into the empty night.
The quiet and the dim light wrapped around her. Trying to calm her restless heart, she sat on the porch step. Then, in the stillness, she heard somethinga faint squeak or rustle.
“Another stray kitten tangled in the bushes,” she thought, heading to free it, as shed done before.
But it wasnt a kitten. Tanya knew the moment she tugged the cloth from the bush. The scrap was an old, worn baby blanket. She yanked harderand froze.
There, in the corner of the blanket, lay a tiny child. Naked, probably having wriggled free. A little boy. His umbilical stump still hadnt fallen offhe couldnt have been more than a day or two old.
Too weak to even cry, he was damp, exhausted, and hungry. When Tanya lifted him, he let out a feeble whimper.
Without thinking, she clutched him to her chest and ran inside. She found a clean bedsheet, swaddled him, tucked him under a warm blanket, and warmed milk. She scrubbed an old bottleleft from spring when shed nursed an orphaned lamband found a teat. The boy gulped greedily, then, warm and fed, fell asleep.
Morning came, but Tanya barely noticed. She stared at the child, lost in thought. She was past forty now, and the village youngsters already called her “Auntie.”
Her husband and son had been lost to war in the same year, leaving her utterly alone. Shed never grown used to the solitude, though life kept reminding her of it, forcing her to rely only on herself.
Now, she was at a loss. She glanced at the sleeping babybreathing softly, like all newborns doand decided to ask her neighbor, Helen, for advice.
Helens life was smooth sailingno husband, no children, no wartime losses. Men came and went; she never clung to them. Now, she stood on her porch, wrapped in a shawl, basking in the sun. She listened to Tanyas story, then said flatly:
“Why would you want that?” Before turning inside, where Tanya spotted a curtain twitchanother overnight visitor.
“Why?” Tanya whispered to herself.
Back home, she packed: fed the baby, wrapped him dry, gathered food, and walked to the roadside to hitch a ride to town. A lorry stopped within minutes.
“To the hospital?” the driver asked, nodding at the bundle in her arms.
“To the hospital,” she replied quietly.
At the orphanage, as they filled out paperwork, unease gnawed at her. Something felt wrongagainst her conscience. Her heart ached with emptiness, just like when shed lost her husband and son.
“Whats his name?” the matron asked.
“Name?” Tanya paused, then blurted, “Alex.”
“Lovely name,” the matron said. “Weve plenty of Alexes and Kates here. Some from lost families, otherswho knows? Men are scarce these daysshouldnt we cherish children? Yet here we are, dumping them. Shameful!”
The words werent aimed at her, but they stung. By dusk, Tanya returned home, lit a lamp, and spotted Alexs old blanket. She hadnt thrown it outjust set it aside. Now, she picked it up and sat on the bed.
Fumbling with the damp fabric, her fingers brushed a small knot in the corner. Inside, she found a slip of paper and a simple tin cross on a string. The note read:
“Kind woman, forgive me. I cant keep this childmy lifes a mess, and by tomorrow, Ill be gone. Dont abandon my son. Give him what I couldntlove, care, and safety.”
A birthdate followed. Tanya broke down, weeping as if mourning the dead. She hadnt thought she had tears left.
Memories flooded her: her wedding, the happiness with her husband, then Alexs arrivalmore joy. The village envied her glow.
But war came. In August 42, the death notice for her husband arrived. By October, her son was gone too. Her light went out.
She became like the otherswaking at night, running to the door, staring into the dark. That night was no different. By morning, she returned to town.
The matron recognized her instantly and wasnt surprised when Tanya said shed take the boy backher lost sons wish.
“Good,” the matron said. “Take him. Well sort the papers.”
Wrapped in a blanket, Alex left with herher heart no longer hollow. New feelings settled in: happiness, love. If someones meant to be happy, they will be.
At home, only photos of her husband and son greeted her. But now their faces seemed differentnot solemn or grieving, but soft, approving.
Holding little Alex, Tanya felt stronghed need her for years.
“Youll help me,” she told the photos.
Twenty years passed. Alex grew into a fine man. Every girl fancied him, but he chose the one his heart settled onLily, second only to his mum.
When he brought Lily home, Tanya knew: her son had grown into a true man. She blessed them.
They married, built a home, had childrenthe youngest named Alex. Tanyas family grew.
One night, she woke to noise outside and, out of habit, went to the door. A storm brewed; lightning flickered.
“Thank you, son,” she whispered into the dark. “Now Ive three Alexesand I love you all.”
The old oak by the porchplanted when her son was bornswayed. Lightning flashed, bright as a smile.
