**The Number of Fate**
Margaret Sullivan had lost her daughter years ago in a tragic accident.
At first, she barely functioned. She saw nothing, heard nothing, spoke to no one. She couldnt, and she didnt want to.
Margaret convinced herself that no one could ever understand her griefnor did she need them to. All she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts, where her daughter, Emily, still lived.
She told herself Emily had simply gone awayfor a long time. But she would come back.
Margaret never deleted Emilys number from her phone. She couldnt. Sometimes shed stare at it and think, *What if she calls?*
It was still there, right beside the othersthose who were alive and well.
And sometimes, seeing that number made her feel as though she could call Emily herself whenever she wanted.
***
One evening, as usual, Margaret sat by the window, gazing absently into the street.
Shed had this habit for years, ever since Emily was in school.
She used to wait for her daughter, watching her run homethen hurry to the stove to warm up dinner.
That felt like another lifetime now.
Lost in thought, Margaret picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts.
As always, her eyes lingered on Emilys number.
Without thinking, she pressed call.
***
“Hello?” A young womans voice, warm and startlingly like Emilysbright, gentle
Margaret froze.
“Sorry,” she stammered, “I must have dialed the wrong number.”
“Dont worry,” the girl replied, a smile in her voice. “Happens to all of us.” Then she hung up.
Margaret sat stunned, wondering if shed imagined it. But nothe strangers voice truly had sounded like Emilys. Shed have recognized it anywhere.
For days, she couldnt stop thinking about that calland about Emily.
Memories flooded backEmily laughing, telling stories, chatting on the phone.
Her voice echoed in Margarets mind, blurring the line between memory and reality.
One evening, she gave in and called again.
“Hello?” The same warm voice answered.
“Hello,” Margaret said, steadying her trembling voice. “I called you by accident the other day and your voice it sounds so much like my daughters. Emily. Shes gone.”
“Im so sorry,” the girl said after a pause. “My names Lucy. Can I help?”
“No,” Margaret replied instantly. “I dont need anything. Just talk to me?”
***
From that evening on, Margaret and Lucy began calling each other.
At first, their conversations were briefordinary things.
“Got caught in the rain today,” Lucy said once. “But I didnt mind. Felt refreshing.”
“Ive always loved the air after rain,” Margaret admitted, smiling.
Lucy shared little worries: “Springs here, and everyones in love except me.”
“Be patient,” Margaret reassured her. “Your time will come.”
***
As they spoke more, trust grew. Their words held comfort; their silences, understanding.
“Do you always open up so easily?” Lucy asked one day.
“No,” Margaret admitted. “But with time, you learn silence doesnt heal.”
“How do you live with it?” Lucy asked softly. “The loss?”
“Day by day, Lucy. The pain never leaves. Its always there. But you mustnt lose hope.”
“I understand,” Lucy whispered. “I grew up in a care home. Its lonely.”
“Youre not alone now,” Margaret said gently. “Fate brought us together for a reason.”
***
“Thank you for listening to me,” Lucy said once.
“No, thank *you*,” Margaret nearly wept. “For talking to me. For letting me listen.”
“You feel like a mother to me.”
“And you feel like a daughter,” Margaret answered without hesitation. “Maybe we should meet? Id like to see you.”
***
The café was cozysoft music, candlelight. Margaret sat by the window, eyes fixed on the door.
Every time it opened, her heart leaped. Part of her still expected Emily to walk in.
Then Lucy did.
She looked nothing like Emily. Yet when their eyes met, they knew each other at once.
“Hello, my dear,” Margaret said softly, reaching outthen stepping forward to embrace her.
Lucy didnt pull away.
“Hello,” she whispered back.
They sat in gentle silence before Margaret spoke. “Youre nothing like Emily.” Her voice wavered slightly.
“Of course not,” Lucy smiled. “Im Lucy.”
“And Im glad you are,” Margaret said. “Thank you for coming.”
They talked easilyabout life, dreams, finding someone when hope felt lost.
Lucy spoke of the care home; Margaret, of Emily.
“Emily always dreamed of a big family,” Margaret shared. “A house with a garden, children, evenings by the fire.”
“She sounds lovely,” Lucy said.
“She was. Sometimes I think she still watches over me.”
“I want a family too,” Lucy confessed. “Sometimes it feels impossible.”
“It isnt,” Margaret said firmly. “And if youll let me, Ill always be here.”
***
Days later, Margaret invited Lucy over.
“Really?” Lucy couldnt hide her joy.
“Of course!”
For the first time in years, Margaret was glad someone was coming home.
***
That day, the house felt alive again. Lucys presence was like sunlight.
Margaret hung on her every word, gathering the fragments of lost happiness.
“Lucy,” she said suddenly, “why dont you move in? Theres plenty of space. No need to rent alone.”
Lucy agreed instantly. “It feels like coming home.”
***
Months passed. Their bond deepened, almost like family.
Some questioned it.
“Are you sure she isnt using you?” friends warned. “After your money or the house?”
Margaret wouldnt hear it. “Lucy *is* family,” she insisted. “I trust her.”
***
Years later, Lucy married and had a daughter. She wanted to name her Emily, but Margaret gently refused.
“No need, love. Ill never forget Emily. Let her have her own name, her own story.”
Their love needed no remindersit lived in their hearts.
Lucys husband joked, “My mother-in-laws pure gold!”
***
So a story that began with a wrong number became one of lovenot bound by blood, but by something rarer: kinship of the soul.
Now, when Margaret walks with Lucys daughter, people often say, “What a lovely granddaughter! Youre blessed!”
“Blessed,” Margaret echoes in her heart, thanking God for this second chance at happiness.
