In the dim-lit hospital corridor, five-year-old Oliver was rushed upstairs, his mother forbidden from following. She sat alone on a scuffed wooden bench in the waiting area, flinching at every distant echo of footsteps. Her mind moved sluggishly as she dialed her husband, voice trembling: “Olivers in danger. Barely holding on. Its bad.”
Her husband replied calmly: “Hes built like me and his granddadtough as nails. Dont go off the deep end. Itll be fine. Mum and I are at the cottage picking mushrooms. Go home, let the doctors do their job.”
The corridor stretched endlessly, grey and indifferent. She stumbled outside to the hospital steps, phone pressed to her ear: “Mum, Olivers not well. I saw it in the doctors faces. Really not well.” Her voice cracked into sobs.
Her mothers reply was brisk: “Listen. Trouble attracts trouble. Shake it off, think positive. Light follows light. Wallowing wont help a soul. Pull yourself together.”
The air inside was thick and stifling. A nurse shot her a sharp look: “Now then, love, no theatrics. Youll only get in the way.”
Only her sister, just her sister, would listen: “Emily, Olivers fading. The doctors wont say whats wrong. Hes gone unconscious.”
Emilys voice softened: “Happens to little ones. Growing pains, they call it. Trust me. Youll only make it worse, crying like this.”
The mother retreated to the corridors shadowed endwhere the walls, untouched since the war, swallowed the light. Fumbling with the chain around her neck, she glanced around before kneeling, pressing the small silver cross to her lips. It didnt matter who saw.
“Youre all-powerful. You know painYou felt it. Your own Mother wept as I do now. Reach out. Comfort me. Theres no one else. Just me, and this hurt. I beg for mercy. I beg for Your love. Help me, dear Lord. Only You.”
She froze. A door creaked open, a figure haloed in light. The doctor. He saw her, offered a hand. “Up you get. Breathe. Your boy will pull throughthats a promise. Come now, stand.”
Leaning into the kindness of his grip, she staggered upright. “Cant speak. Thank you. Can I stay? Sleep on the chairs?”
The elderly doctor smiled. “Home. Straight home. Rest easy. Ring us tomorrow.” He slid a business card into her palm.
By morning, her husband, sister, and mother all said theyd been right all along. She shouldve listened, not carried on like a madwoman.
But none understoodreal truth stood above them. It lived in a mothers prayer. In a love unshaken. In the One who never turns away.
