A woman peeked into a bag and was horrified by what she found inside.
A boy stared out the window, pestering his grandmother.
“Gran, when are we going outside?”
“Not today, loveits freezing,” she replied. “Besides, Ive got too much to do.”
Margaret Whitmore knitted hats and scarves for extra income, and today she had an order to finish. But her grandson wouldnt let up.
“Fine, fine,” she sighed. “Well go for a short walk, but not longits bitter out.”
They stepped into the empty streeteveryone else had retreated indoors from the cold. The boy raced around while Margaret shivered.
“Right, Oliver, time to go,” she called. “Well catch our death out here!”
But the lad was unstoppable, darting across the playground before vanishing into a play tunnel. She called his name repeatedly until he finally answered.
“Gran, theres a doll herecan we take it?”
Margaret stepped inside and froze. A bag sat in the corner, emitting a faint whimper. Her blood ran cold. Peering inside, she found a tiny baby wrapped in a thin blanket, its face blue from the cold. She snatched the child up, clutching it tight for warmth, then dialled emergency services with shaking hands.
Paramedics and police arrived swiftly. The baby was rushed to hospital while Margaret and Oliver stayed to give statements.
“How did you find the little one?” an officer asked.
Margaret explained it was Oliver whod discovered the childhad he not called her, shed never have heard the whimpers.
“Good lad,” the officer praised. “Youve done a fine thing today.”
Margaret couldnt fathom how anyone could abandon their own flesh and blood. The officer just shook his head.
“Seen it allbabies left in bins, on doorsteps. Nothing shocks us anymore.”
She begged for updates, and later learned the child had mild hypothermia but would recover. “Another hour outside, though, and it wouldve been too late,” the officer admitted.
The next morning, Margaret phoned the hospital.
“Why do you want to know about the baby?” the receptionist asked sharply.
“Were the ones who found her,” Margaret explained.
“Ah! The rescuers!” The womans tone softened. “Its a little girl. Shes doing wellthanks to you.”
Margaret asked if she could visit, perhaps bring supplies. Against protocol, they agreed. “Diapers and formula would help,” the nurse said.
The following afternoon, Margaret and Oliver arrived with gifts, including a soft grey scarf shed knittednot for sale, just on a whim. It had sat unused, as if waiting for this moment. She draped it over the baby, tears welling as she whispered a wish for her happiness.
Over the years, they checked in. The girl, named Sophia, was adopted by a loving couple after her mothers rights were revoked.
Eighteen years later, a much older but still sprightly Margaret baked Olivers favourite piehed promised a surprise visit. When the door opened, he walked in with a young woman.
“Gran, meet my fiancée, Sophia,” he beamed. “Were two halves of a wholefelt like Id known her forever the moment we met.”
Margaret gasped. As Sophia unwound her scarf, Margaret recognised the delicate grey knitthe very one shed given the abandoned baby all those years ago.
“Your scarfsuch lovely stitching,” she murmured.
Sophia smiled. “Ive had it as long as I can remember. Rarely wear it, but I could never part with it.”
Margaret said nothing, but her heart swelled. Oliver had saved his future wife long before theyd met. Some things, it seemed, were simply meant to be.
