HAPPINESS FOR EMMA
Emma had long intended to do thisadopt a child from an orphanage. After six years of marriage without children, her husband had left her for someone younger and more successful. The strain of family life had worn her down; she no longer had the energy or desire to try again, to find someone whod stand by her “for better or worse.” No, enough was enough. Thats what she decided. If she was going to pour her heart into anything, it wouldnt be into finding a partnerit would be into someone who truly needed that love.
So, she got to work. She gathered the necessary paperwork, arranged everything with social services. Now came the hard part: finding the right boy, the one whod become her son, her legacy, the one she could give all the warmth shed stored up over her 38 years.
She didnt want a babyshe feared she wouldnt manage, having passed the age when women secretly crave sleepless nights, swaddling, cooing, and rocking. Instead, she headed to the orphanage to find a little lad, three or five years old, whod become hers.
On the tram ride over, she fidgeted like it was a first date, too nervous to notice how spring had fully settled over the cityyoung, silky, with a crisp chill and impossibly bright sunlight. The tram groaned on the bends, but Emma barely noticed, lost in thoughts of the child who already existed somewhere but didnt yet know fate had picked him for her.
Outside, London hummed with lifecars gleaming in the sun, people rushing about. None of them knew Emma was on her way to meet her own happiness. She turned away from the other passengers to stare out the window, though she saw nothing, already smiling at the son shed meet in just minutes.
Her stop came. The sign read simply: “Childrens Home.” Next stop: “Nursery.”
She stepped off and saw the old building, its once-white columns now peeling like badly painted camouflageas if trying to hide from prying eyes. Inside, she explained herself to the security guard, who pointed her to the matrons office.
The matron was an elderly woman in a stretched-out, pilled cardigan, her hair frazzled, her face lined. She had a provincial air, almost unkempt, but her eyes were sharpthis was a woman who knew her place in life and had known it for years. They didnt speak long; theyd already talked on the phone.
“Right then, shall we go and meet them?” the matron said, standing first.
Emma followed her down a long corridor with dark blue panelling. Over her shoulder, the matron added, “The younger ones are in the playroom now, so thats where well go.” She pushed open the door, and they stepped inside.
About fifteen childrenboys and girlswere sprawled on the carpet or rummaging through toy chests. A carer sat by the window, writing, occasionally glancing up to keep an expert eye on things.
The moment the adults entered, the children rushed forward as if it were routine. They crowded around, clinging to knees, tugging at sleeves, tipping their little faces up like eager birds, all shouting at once:
“Youve come for me! Take me!”
“No, shes my mum! I dreamed about her!”
“Pick me! Im your daughter!”
The matron absently patted their heads, giving Emma quick, quiet notes about each one. Emma felt overwhelmedhow could she choose just one?
Then she noticed the boy by the window. He hadnt approached. He just turned on his chair, watching the familiar scene unfold with detached curiosity.
For some reason, Emma walked straight to him. She rested a hand on his head.
Beneath her palm, slightly slanted eyes of no particular colour looked up at her, matching his high cheekbones, broad nose, and faint eyebrows. He wasnt at all the boy shed pictured. As if confirming he was “all wrong,” he said:
“You wont pick me anyway.”
But his gaze clung to her, pleading for the opposite.
“Why do you say that, love?” Emma asked, leaving her hand where it was.
“Cause Im always snotty and I get sick a lot. And Ive got a little sister, Nellie. Shes in the baby room. I go see her every day so she wont forget shes got a big brother. My names Alfie, and I wont go anywhere without Nellie.”
Then, as if from sheer tension, a runny nose proved his point.
And thats when Emma knewshed been waiting her whole life for snotty little Alfie, who caught every cold going, and for Nellie, a girl shed never seen but already loved.
