**Diary Entry**
I knew something was off the moment I tugged at the scrap of fabric poking out from the bushes. It was an old, faded baby blanket, and I pulled harder. Then I frozethere, on the corner of the blanket, lay a tiny child.
At dawn, I had a strange dreammy son, Tommy, standing on the porch, knocking at the door. I jolted awake, scrambled up, and ran barefoot to the door. Silence. No one. Id had dreams like this before, always tricking me, but every time, I flung the door open wide. This time was no differentI stared into the empty night.
The quiet and the dimness of the hour wrapped around me. Trying to steady my pounding heart, I sat on the porch step. Then, in that stillness, an odd noisea whimper, a rustle.
“Another stray kitten tangled in the bushes,” I thought and went to free it, as Id done before.
But it wasnt a kitten. I knew as soon as I tugged the scrap of cloth sticking out from the hedge. The fabric was an old, patterned baby blanket, and when I pulled harder, my heart stopped.
There, curled on the corner of the blanket, was a tiny, naked babya boy. His umbilical stump hadnt even fallen off. He couldnt cry anymore, just weak little whimpers, shivering, exhausted, probably starving. When I lifted him, he squeaked faintly.
I dont remember thinkingjust clutching him to my chest, dashing inside, grabbing a clean sheet to wrap him, tucking him under a warm blanket, then heating milk. I scrubbed an old bottle, found a rubber teat left from spring when Id nursed a lamb. The boy gulped greedily, then, warm and full, fell asleep.
Morning came, but I barely noticed. I was too lost in thought. I was past forty, and the village kids already called me “Auntie.”
Id lost my husband and son to the war in the same year, left utterly alone. I never got used to the loneliness, but life kept reminding me, until I learned to rely only on myself.
Now, I was adrift. What was I meant to do? I looked at the babysleeping peacefully, softly snoring, like all little ones do.
Then it struck meask the neighbor. Margaret had always had it easy. No husband, no children, no losses. She lived for herself, kept men at arm’s length, never clinging if they didnt suit her.
That morning, Margaret stood on her porch in a shawl, stretching under the sun. She listened to my story, then shrugged.
“And why would you want that?” she said, turning back inside. Through the window, I saw the curtain twitchanother overnight suitor.
*Why?* I whispered to myself.
Back home, I packedfed the baby, wrapped him snug, tucked food into a bag, then waited at the bus stop. A lorry pulled up quickly.
“Hospital?” the driver asked, nodding at my bundle.
“Hospital,” I said flatly.
At the orphanage, filling out paperwork, I couldnt shake the guilt. Something felt wrong. The hollowness inside reminded me of the day Id gotten the news about my husbandthen my son.
“Whats his name?” the matron asked.
“Name?” I hesitated, then said, surprising myself, “Tommy.”
“Lovely name,” she said. “Weve so many Toms and Kates here. Children with no one left. But yourswho abandons a baby? No men around, and heres a gift, thrown away! Some mother!”
Her words werent aimed at me, but they stung.
I returned home by dusk, lit the lamp, and thereTommys old blanket. I hadnt thrown it away, just set it aside. Now, I picked it up and sat on the bed.
Absently running my hands over the damp fabric, I sat there, numb. Then my fingers brushed a knot in the corner.
Insidea scrap of paper and a simple tin cross on a string. The note read:
*Dear kind woman, forgive me. I dont want this child. Im lost. By tomorrow, Ill be gone. Dont abandon my son. Give him what I cantlove, care, protection.*
A birthdate followed. Then I brokesobbing like at a funeral. I thought Id cried all my tears years ago.
I remembered marrying, how happy wed been. Then Tommy camemore joy. The village women envied meId glowed with happiness.
Why wouldnt I? A loving husband, a beloved son. Both adored me. Right before the war, Tommy got his driving license, promised to take me out in the new tractor from the farm.
Then, disaster. August 42the telegram about my husband. Octobermy son. Just like that, my light went out.
I became like everyone elsewaking at night, running to the door, staring into the dark.
That night, I couldnt sleep, pacing outside, listening, waiting. By morning, I was back at the orphanage.
The matron recognized me, unsurprised when I said Id take Tommy back. “My son wouldve wanted it,” I said.
“Good,” she nodded. “Well sort the papers.”
Wrapping Tommy in a blanket, I left with a different heartno more emptiness, just warmth.
If happiness is meant for you, it finds you. Thats what happened to me.
At home, only photos of my husband and son greeted me. But this time, their faces werent solemnthey looked gentle, approving.
Holding little Tommy, I felt stronghed need me for years.
“Youll help me,” I told the photos.
Twenty years passed. Tommy grew into a fine man. Every girl fancied him, but he chose his sweetheartLucy.
When he brought her home, I knewhe was a man now. I blessed them.
They married, built their nest. Children came, the youngest named Tommy. My family grew.
One night, noise outside woke me. Out of habit, I went to the door. A storm brewed, lightning flickering.
“Thank you, son,” I whispered into the dark. “Now Ive three Tommys, and I love you all.”
The old oak by the porchplanted by my husband when Tommy was bornrustled. Lightning flashedlike Tommys bright smile.
