In the dim-lit hospital corridor, knees pressed to cold linoleum…
Five-year-old Oliver had been rushed to the hospital, whisked away to the top floor. His mother wasnt allowed up. She sat downstairs on a scuffed wooden chair, flinching at every distant echo of footsteps. Hands trembling, she dialled her husband. “Olivers in danger. Barely breathing. Its bad.”
Her husband replied calmly, “Hes my sonsturdy as an oak, like his grandfather. Dont go off the deep end. Itll be fine. Mum and I are at the cottage, picking mushrooms. Go home. Let the doctors work; they know what theyre doing.”
The corridor stretched endlessly, indifferent and grey.
She stepped outside, phone pressed to her ear. “Mum, Olivers not right. I saw the doctors’ faces. Its bad, Mum.” Her voice cracked.
Her mother snapped back, “Listendark thoughts breed dark things. Put it out of your mind. Believe in better. Light finds light. Wallowing wont help. Pull yourself together.”
The air inside was thick. A nurse shot her a sharp look. “No hysterics, love. Youll only get in the way.”
Only her sister, just her sister now. “Emily, Olivers not waking up. The doctors wont say whats wrong.”
Emily soothed, “Children have these spells. Growing pains, thats all. Crying wont help himor you.”
The mother wandered to the corridors end, where shadows pooled thickest. The building was pre-war, untouched by time.
Fingers fumbling, she unclasped her necklace, glanced around, and knelt. The cross pressed to her lips. She didnt care who saw. “You know suffering. Your own mother wept like I do now. Stretch out Your hand. Comfort me. Theres no one elsejust me and this pain. I beg for mercy. For love. Help me, Father. Only You.”
She froze.
A door creaked open. A figure in whitethe consultant. He saw her, offered a hand. “Up you get. Breathe. Your boy will be fine. Im telling you now. Up.”
Leaning into that kindness, she rose. “Cant speak. Thank you. Can I stay? Sleep on the chairs?”
The older man smiled. “Home. Straight home. Rest. Call tomorrow.” He handed her a card.
By morning, her husband, sister, and mother all said theyd been right. She shouldve listened, not panicked like a madwoman.
None understood true rightness was beyond them. It lived in a mothers prayer, in a love that wouldnt bend, in the One who wouldnt turn away.
