An old woman peered into a handbag and nearly jumped out of her skin at what she found inside.
Her grandson, Tommy, was glued to the window, whining, “Gran, when are we going out?”
“Not today, loveits freezing,” replied Margaret Whitmore, fingers busy with her knitting needles. She made a tidy little side income crocheting hats and scarves, and right now, a customer was waiting for a matching set.
But Tommy was relentless. “Pleeease?”
“Oh, alright then, you little scamp,” she sighed, bundling up. “But not for longIve got work to do!”
Outside, the playground was desertedsensible folk were tucked up indoors. Tommy bolted off like a rocket while Margaret shivered, arms crossed. “Right, thats enough! Well catch our deaths out here.”
But Tommy had already vanished into the maze-like climbing frame. She called, and finally, his voice piped up: “Gran! Theres a doll in herecan we take it?”
Her heart sank when she spotted the abandoned bagthen leapt into her throat at the faint mewling inside. Peering in, she gasped: a tiny baby, wrapped in nothing but a thin blanket, its little face blue with cold. Snatching the child up, she cradled it close, fingers trembling as she dialled 999.
Paramedics and police arrived swiftly. The baby was whisked to hospital, while Margaret and Tommy gave statements.
“Howd you find it?” an officer asked.
“Wouldnt have heard a thing if this one hadnt gone poking about,” Margaret admitted, ruffling Tommys hair.
“Good lad,” the officer grinned. “Proper little hero.”
Margaret shook her head. “Who could just abandon their own flesh and blood?”
“Seen worse,” the officer shrugged. “Babies in bins, left on doorstepsnothing shocks us now.”
Margaret begged for updates. The hospital confirmed the babya girlwould be fine, though another hour outside mightve been fatal.
The next morning, Margaret rang the hospital again.
“And you are?” the receptionist asked briskly.
“No one, really. Just the woman who found her.”
“Oh! Youre her guardian angel!” The voice warmed instantly. “Shes doing well.”
“Could I visit? Bring anything?”
“Against protocol, but nappies and formula wouldnt go amiss.”
Armed with supplies, Margaret and Tommy returned. The babyso tiny, so perfectstirred something in her. On impulse, shed brought a delicate grey scarf, edged with lace-like patterns, one shed knitted on a whim. Draping it over the cot, she whispered, “Be happy, little love.”
They followed the case. The babynamed Sophiewas adopted by a loving couple after her mothers rights were revoked.
Eighteen years later, Margaret, now frailer but just as sharp, was baking Tommys favourite pie when he arrived, suspiciously smug. “Gran, meet Sophiemy fiancée.”
“Marvellous news!” Margaret beamed, ushering them in. Then she frozeSophies scarf. That pattern.
“Lovely stitching,” Margaret managed.
“Oh, this?” Sophie smiled. “Ive had it forever. Could never part with it.”
Margarets eyes pricked. That scarfher scarfhad come full circle. Tommy had saved his own future wife that day. Some things, she thought, were just meant to be.
