London, June 1917

There was the sound of a woman singing coming from the bedroom at the back of the house. Fearful, he made his way towards the sound. Her voice softly repeated the words of an old lullaby. He paused in the doorway, watching her as she bent forward over the baby’s crib, her long hair falling forward like a smooth curtain to hide her face.

He came into the room, hardly daring to glance down into the crib. From the corner of his eye, he could see there was a small form under the blanket.

She turned to smile at him. Such a beautiful smile, like an angel’s, it lit her up from within. Happiness shone from her eyes. She was more alive than he’d seen her in years.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she asked, keeping her voice low to avoid disturbing the child. ‘See, I told you we would be blessed for our faithfulness.’ She held him in a brief tight hug before turning away to fold up the child’s clothes into a neat pile on the dresser.

He looked then. A small child, just a tiny thing, looked back at him. Curling brown hair, long-lashed trusting eyes. A hesitant baby smile revealed a set of about six tiny white teeth.

‘Isn’t this perfect? A proper little darling. The child we’ve always wanted. Oh, I’m so happy.’

The man turned away from the crib as tears gathered in his eyes. His voice choked in his throat. But he had to ask. He had to know.

‘Where did you get the child from?’

 

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