A lone woman, newly divorced, found a bundle of swaddling on the step of her cottage in Littlebrook. A year later, a knock rattled the oak door.
Whatyour man never came back? the curious eyes of the village women pressed around Helen Carter, their eyebrows arched like the hedges in the lane. She lowered her gaze, cheeks flushing, unsure of a reply.
No, and why should he have returned? Were already partandparcel, Helen said, trying to sound steady.
Partandparcel Brian isnt a saint either. Nobodys going to pick up a treasure like that without a fuss, the women chimed, but Helen brushed past the gossip, bag of groceries in hand, and slipped out of the shop.
She knew the whispers would spread through every stone of the village. Here, divorce was as rare as a blue moon. Even if a husband drank too much or raised a hand, the folk believed you must stay together, for the sake of propriety.
Brian was differenthe never drank, never argued, and that made him an oddity, even a target of silent dislike. All the other blokes stumble home after payday, but Brian trudges in sober as a monk, the neighbours muttered. They tried to hold him up as a model, yet envy still gnawed, and the same green-eyed monster turned toward Helen. Rumours floated that Brian kept a lover on the side, but neither gossip nor idle chatter could crack the sealed doors where the couple settled their disputes.
When the rift finally became visible, it startled everyone.
Helen withdrew into herself, sharing nothing, and though the villagers seemed ready to lend a hand, she kept her distance. She trudged home through the creaking snow, a hollow echo ringing in her chest.
Six months passed since Brians departure, and his shadow lingered in her thoughts.
Helen had been the one to push for the separation. Brian only consented when life grew unbearable. It began when she saw his wistful stare at the children playing by the nursery.
Brian, we need to talk seriously, she said one evening.
Alright, whats on the menu for dinner? he laughed, but Helens resolve was iron.
I want a divorce, she declared, the words striking like thunder in a clear sky.
Why? he asked, bewildered.
In a full family there should be children; we have none, and probably never will. I want us to part. Youll find another woman and start a family, she explained, hoping he would understand.
Brians face fell, his humor gone.
You asked whether youd want a child if I werent here? Lets not reopen that wound, he replied.
No, Brian, well revisit it. Ive filed for divorce, Helen said.
He missed every court date; the decree came in absentia.
When Helen unfolded the divorce certificate at home, Brian fought to keep his feelings in check.
So thats it, he muttered through clenched teeth.
Yes, Brian. I want you to leave, Helen replied.
She shut herself in her room, listening to him packing. She wanted to say a final goodbye, but fear held her tongue, afraid she might try to stop him. When the door slammed, Helen rushed to the window and watched Brian drift away.
His leaving felt like her soul slipping out of her body. She could not adjust to life without him. Evenings found her leafing through old photographs, recalling the days when their home brimmed with friends. Now no one visited; she had turned everyone away.
One afternoon, returning home, Helen found a large basket on the doorstep. It was no rustic wicker, but a sleek, shopbought container that could hold three buckets of potatoes. She looked aroundno one in sight. Who had left it there?
She knelt, peering inside.
Whos playing tricks now? she whispered.
A sudden rustle made her start, then she looked again.
My word! she gasped, snatching the basket and racing inside.
Inside lay a tiny infant, no bigger than a rosebud. Helen had never tended a baby before, yet instinct surged. It was a girl. She swaddled the child, covering her with a soft blanket.
When the girl slept again, Helen sat beside her and asked, What am I to do with you, little one?
She named her Poppy, a sweet name with tiny fingers and chubby cheeks. Helen could not tell the exact age, but the child could sit propped on pillows and happily slurp a spoonful of sweet porridge.
The night stretched on sleepless; Helen watched the little breath rise and fall, a marvel that filled her with wonder.
The next day she decided not to rush to the authorities. She slipped out with Poppy at night, keeping her hidden from nosy neighbours, took leave from her job, and shuttled to the shop while the baby napped. She knew eventually she would have to hand the child over, but she delayed the moment.
Three weeks later, the local constable knocked on Helens door. He entered, surveyed the modest room, and faced her, trying not to let emotion crack his veneer.
Mrs Carter, shall we have a word?
He penned a report, then heard Helens tearstreaked question: Where will you take the child?
I wont take her away, Ill only pass the information on. Why are you crying? Dont you want to part with her? If a mother doesnt need her child, who else will care? the constable said.
Ive heard that being unmarried can block an adoption, Helen replied.
We can write good references, help where we can. Nothing happens without effort, he answered.
Helen hadnt imagined the bureaucracy would drain five months of her life, but the feeling of finally having Poppy legally stay with her made it worth every weary hour.
She took maternity leave for eighteen months, a provision for those who adopt from care homes.
Poppys birthday arriveda year old, though the exact date was a bestguess by the doctor. Helen wanted the day to be bright and joyful. While the baby still slept, she filled the room with multicoloured balloons, turning the space into a festive wonderland.
She then bought a large doll from the market. The shopkeeper laughed, Why do you need such a massive doll?
Helen answered firmly, Let it guard Poppys cradle, always close.
When the village learned Helen had taken in a child, their attitudes shifted. Rumours swirled about the true parents, many concluding that Helens cottage by the road was the perfect dropoff point for a forgotten infant. The constable, noting Helens devotion, reinforced the notion that Poppy should stay.
Helen feared one day a knock would bring someone demanding the child back, but each morning Poppys smile flooded her world with light.
Good morning, my little sunshine, Helen chimed, laughing.
Poppy giggled, and Helen dressed her in warm clothes; the cottages heat let the child play on the carpet. She set the doll before Poppy, who stared at it with wide eyes, occasionally glancing at her mother. Helen nudged the doll closer, and Poppy steadied herself, standing on wobbling legs, frozen in awe.
Sunbeam, try a step! Helen encouraged.
Doctors assured Helen that Poppy was healthy, yet Helens nerves stayed taut. Poppy took her first unaided steps, then reached for the dolls rubber arms. Helens heart swelled; she lifted the child and twirled her in a delighted spin.
A sudden rap at the door froze them. Helen pressed Poppy close, her pulse quickening, Poppys whimper echoing her fear. The door creaked open slowly, like a scene from a ghost story.
There stood Brian, gaunt but with the same warm eyes. He scanned the room, taking in Poppy.
Sorry I see youre all well. Whats the girls name? he asked.
Poppy, Helen answered, noticing a flicker of confusion on his face. Brian, she isnt our child. I adopted her. Come in.
Brian halted at the threshold, then stepped forward after her invitation.
Take off your boots, Brian. Its Poppys birthday. Lets have tea and cake; Ill tell you everything.
He shed his coat and shoes. Helen studied his face, a hint of melancholy in her eyes.
Are you well? Are you eating anything? she asked.
He glanced at himself, chuckling softly. Appetites been scarce. Thats how it went.
Poppy reached for Brian, a silent plea to be held. He smiled, nodded, and said, Let me hold her while you brew the tea.
Helen watched them sit on the floor, playing with the doll. Brian teased, Wheres the dolls mouth? And the eyes? Poppy pointed confidently, bursting into giggles. Helen wiped away tears of happiness.
They only managed to talk once Poppy fell asleep after lunch. Helen poured out everything.
Why didnt you try to contact me? It must be hard on your own, Brian asked.
No, its fine. Why would I? I thought youd found someone and maybe were expecting a child, Helen replied.
Brian looked away, murmuring, I once found love, but she turned out stubborn.
Night fell, and Brian began to gather his things.
Two more hours on the road, he said.
Helen crossed her arms, knowing his departure was imminent.
Maybe its for the best, he added, but you cant imagine how heavy it feels. Without you I dont need any children. I try to leave you in the past, yet you keep appearing in my dreams. I came back hoping to forget, but it only made things worse.
Helen, fighting back tears, whispered, I feel the same. Not a minute passes without thinking of you. What should we do, Brian?
Brians smile widened.
I know what we should do.
Helen stared, surprised.
Its simple, he continued. We split because we had no children. Now we have Poppy. We can be a family again.
Marry again? Helen asked.
Brian tossed his coat aside, lifted a small steering wheel from a vase, and stood before her.
My love, will you marry me? I promise to care for you and Poppy.
Helen sat beside him, gazing into his eyes.
Yes a thousand times yes, she whispered.
He slipped a simple ring onto her finger and embraced her tightly.
All this time without you felt like a dream. Now Im waking, as if life has begun anew.
A year later, Helen and Brian welcomed a son, Michael, into the world. After a few bureaucratic twists, the baby found his place in the family.
Now we have a princess and a prince. Hell grow to protect his sister, Brian mused.
They stood together, arms around each other, eyes shining. It was, at last, a truly happy family.
