In the dim-lit hallway, on her knees…
Five-year-old Alfie was taken to the hospital and carried to the top floor. His mother wasnt allowed to follow, so she sat below on one of the peeling wooden chairs, flinching at every echoing footstep.
Her thoughts swam as she called her husband. Alfies in danger. Barely alive. Its bad.
Her husband replied calmly, Hes got my blood, and his grandfathers. Were made of iron. Dont jump the gun. Hell be fine. Were at the cottage, picking mushrooms with Mum. Go home. Dont get in the doctors waythey know their business.
The corridor weighed heavy, dull and indifferent to sorrow.
She stepped onto the hospital steps, phone trembling. Mum, Alfies not well. I could see it in the doctors faces. Its bad, Mum. And she wept.
Her mother answered briskly, Listen here. Trouble calls trouble. Put it out of your mind, think of better things. Have faith. Light follows light. Agony wont help a soul. Pull yourself together.
The air was thick in the corridor. A nurse scolded her, Now then, love, none of that! Youll disturb the work.
Only her sister, just her sister. No one else. Emily, Alfies not well. The doctors wont say whats wrong. Hes unconscious!
Her sister soothed her, Happens to children sometimes. Growing pains, they call it. Trust me. Youll only make yourself worse with all this crying.
The mother retreated to the hallways far end, where shadows pooled thickest. The building was pre-war, untouched by repair.
Glancing around, she undid her necklace, knelt, and pressed the tiny cross to her lips. It didnt matter who saw. Youre almighty, I know, I believe. Youve felt pain. You know what it is. And Your Mother wept as I do now. Stretch out Your hand. Comfort me. Theres no one else, just me and my hurt. I beg for mercy, for Your love. Help me, dear Lord. Only You. Only You.
She froze.
A door opened, a figure bright against the gloom. The doctor. Spotting her, he approached, offering his hand. Up you get. Breathe easyyour boy will be fine. Thats a promise. Come on, now.
Leaning into the kindness of his grip, she stood. Cant speak. Thank you. Can I stay the night? On the chairs?
The elderly doctor smiled. Home. Straight home. Calm yourselfalls well. Ring tomorrow. He handed her his card.
By morning, her husband, sister, and mother all said theyd been right. She should have listened, not carried on like a madwoman.
None understood that real rightness was beyond them. It lived in a mothers prayer, in a mothers love, in the One who would never turn away.
