The Call of Fate
Margaret Whitmore lost her daughter years agoa tragic accident.
At first, she barely functioned, withdrawing from life entirely. She saw nothing, heard nothing, spoke to almost no one. She couldnt and didnt want to.
It felt as though no one could ever understand her griefnor did she need them to. All she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts, where Emily was still alive.
Margaret convinced herself her daughter had simply gone awayfor a long timebut would surely return.
She never deleted Emilys number from her phone. She couldnt. Sometimes shed stare at it and think, *What if she calls?*
There it was, right beside the othersthose belonging to people still alive and well.
That number gave her the illusion that she could still call Emily whenever she wanted.
***
One evening, as usual, she sat by the window, occasionally glancing into the courtyard.
It was a habit shed formed long ago, back when Emily was still in school.
Shed wait for her daughter Spot her running homethen hurry to the stove to reheat 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.
Almost without thinking, she tapped *Call.*
***
“Hello?” A young womans voice, warm and oddly familiarso much like Emilys. Bright, tender
Margaret froze.
“Sorry,” she stammered, “I must have misdialed.”
“No worries,” the girl replied, a smile in her voice. “Happens to the best of us.” Then she hung up.
Margaret sat stunned. At first, she thought shed imagined itbut no. The strangers voice *had* sounded like Emilys. Shed recognize it anywhere.
For days, she couldnt stop thinking about that calland about Emily.
Memories surfaced endlessly: Emily laughing, chatting, speaking on the phone.
Her voice echoed constantly in Margarets mind. She could no longer tell what was memory and what was real.
One evening, she couldnt resist. She called again.
“Hello?” The same warm voice.
“Hello,” Margaret said, fighting the tremor in her words. “I rang you before by mistake. And your voice its so much like my daughters. Emily. She she passed away.”
A pause. Then softly, “Im so sorry. My names Lily. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Margaret said quickly. “I dont need anything. Just talk to me?”
***
From that night on, Margaret and Lily spoke often.
At first, their conversations were shortlittle things, everyday matters.
“I got caught in the rain today,” Lily told her once. “And you know what? It felt wonderfullike the world had been washed clean.”
“Ive always loved that feeling too,” Margaret admitted, smiling.
Lily sighed. “Springs here, everyones falling in lovebut I cant seem to meet the right person.”
“Be patient,” Margaret reassured her. “Hes on his way. Good things take time.”
***
The more they spoke, the closer they grew. Trust built with each callsupport in their words, understanding in their silences.
“Youre so open about yourself,” Lily remarked one evening. “Is it always this easy for you?”
“No,” Margaret admitted. “But with age, you learn silence doesnt heal.”
“How do you live with it?” Lily asked hesitantly. “The loss?”
“How do I live, Lily? Day by day. Night by night. The wound never leavesits always there. But you mustnt lose hope.”
“I understand,” Lily said softly. “I grew up in foster care. That kind of loneliness it stays with you.”
“Youre not alone now,” Margaret whispered. “Fate brought us together for a reason.”
***
“Thank you for listening to me,” Lily blurted out one day.
“No, *thank you*,” Margaret said, blinking back tears. “For talking to mefor letting me listen.”
“Youve youve become like a mother to me.”
“And youve become like a daughter,” Margaret replied without hesitation. “Perhaps we should meet? Id love to see you in person.”
***
The café was cozysoft music, candlelight, a warmth that felt like home.
Margaret sat by the window, eyes fixed on the door. Every time it opened, her heart fluttered. Part of her still expected Emily to walk in.
Thenshe did.
Well, not Emily. Lily.
Nothing like her daughter. Yet when their eyes met, they knew each other instantly.
“Hello, my dear,” Margaret said softly, reaching outthen stopping. Instead, she stepped forward and embraced the girl. Held her tight.
Lily didnt pull away.
“Hello,” she whispered back.
They sat, a comfortable silence settling between them.
“Youre nothing like Emily,” Margaret said after a moment, her voice barely trembling.
“Thats alright,” Lily smiled. “Because Im Lily.”
“And you matter to mejust as you are,” Margaret replied. “Thank you for coming.”
The conversation flowed effortlesslylife, dreams, how strangely and wonderfully people find each other just when hope seems lost.
Lily spoke of foster homes; Margaret, of Emily.
“Emily always dreamed of a big family,” she shared. “A house with a garden, children, evenings by the fireplace.”
“She sounds like a beautiful soul,” Lily murmured.
“She was. Sometimes I think she still watches over me.”
“I dream of family too,” Lily confessed. “Sometimes it feels impossible.”
“It *will* happen,” Margaret said firmly. “And if youll allow it, Ill always be here for you.”
“Thank you,” Lily whispered, brushing away a tear.
***
Days later, Margaret invited Lily over.
“Youre sure you want me to come?” Lily couldnt hide her excitement.
“Absolutely!”
“Then Ill admitIve been dying to see where you live.”
Margarets heart raced. For the first time in years, she felt joy at the thought of someone entering her home.
***
That day, the house came alive. Lily brought light with herlaughter, warmth.
Margaret hung on every word, every glance. It felt like gathering fragments of lost happiness.
“Lily,” she said suddenly, “why not move in? Theres plenty of space. Why pay rent when we could share this?”
“Yes,” Lily agreed easily. “It already feels like home.”
***
Months passed. Their bond deepened, almost familial.
Margarets family disapproved.
“Are you sure shes not after your house? Your money?” they muttered. “These scams happen all the time.”
“You cant trust strangers,” others warned.
Margaret listened but didnt waver.
“Lily *is* family,” she insisted. “Thats all there is to it.”
“But it could be a trap!”
“Doubtful,” Margaret retorted. “And Im old enough to decide who to trust.”
***
Years later, Lily married and had a daughter. She wanted to name her Emily, but Margaret gently refused.
“No need, love. Ill never forget my Emily. Let your girl have her own name, her own path.”
They smiled, knowing love needs no remindersit endures as long as the heart beats.
Despite Lilys new life, their bond only grew stronger.
Lilys husband jokingly called Margaret his mother-in-law. When friends teased about meddling mothers-in-law, hed grin.
“Mines pure gold!”
***
What began as a wrong number became a story of loveone unbound by blood, age, or circumstance.
In a world full of loss, theyd found something rare even among kina true meeting of souls.
***
Now, when Margaret walks with Lilys daughter, people often say:
“What a beautiful granddaughter! The spitting image of you! Youre so lucky.”
“Lucky” echoes in Margarets heart, and she thanks heaven for this happiness.
