Tonia was weeding the garden when she heard someone calling her from the yard.

I was pulling weeds in the back garden when I heard someone calling my name from the front yard. I wiped the sweat off my brow and walked to the gate. Standing there was a woman Id never seen before.

Eleanor, hello! We need to talk, she said.

Hello, I replied. Come in, if youre here. I invited her inside, set the kettle on the stove, and wondered what she could possibly want.

My name is Nina, she began. We dont know each other, but Ive heard enough to get straight to the point. Your late husband had a son, a little boy named Mickey. Hes three now.

I stared at her, bewildered. The woman looked far too young to be the mother of a threeyearold.

Its not my son, I said. Its my neighbour, Kate, who had a child with your husband. He used to pop round often, so the boy looks just like him redhaired and freckled, just like his father. No need for a doctors report.

What do you want from me? Nina asked. My husband died recently; I have no idea who he was seeing.

Kate died too, I replied. Pneumonia took her, and now her little boy is an orphan. Kate never had a father or mother; she came over from the north and worked in a shop. Its a shame for the child; the childrens home is his only option now.

I have my own children, I snapped. Two daughters, born in my marriage. Are you suggesting I take this boy in? It takes nerve to turn up at a wifes door and ask her to adopt a stray child.

It would be your brothers child, after all, Nina said. By blood hes not a stranger. Hes a good, gentle lad. The hospital is sorting out his paperwork.

Dont try to tug at my heartstrings, I told her. My late husband may have left behind a few kids, but Im not meant to raise everyone.

Just think it over, she said, and left. I poured tea into a mug and let the thought settle.

Id met James straight after we both got our degrees. We celebrated with the girls, and a group of boys came over to talk. James stood out with his ginger hair and a scattering of freckles across his face. He was lively, mischievous, recited poems and cracked jokes, and offered to walk me home.

Soon we were husband and wife, moving in with my motherinlaw. When she passed, she left the house to us. Our first child, Victoria, was born, and two years later Lily followed. Money was always tight, but we managed.

Then James started drinking. I tried to fight his habit, but it was pointless. Hed disappear for days, lose his job, and I had to take on two parttime positions just to keep the roof over our heads. I finally decided on a divorce, thinking Id move to the city with the girls, stay with my sister, find work, and make it on my own.

Before I could pack, James was killed in a drunken crash. I wept over his coffin, the girls wept too, and I felt a strange, bitter sting of loss.

Now, as if the tragedy werent enough, the secret boy from my husbands past resurfaced.

One afternoon Victoria, tall and lanky, came home from school. Shed inherited my mothers looks and Jamess red hair.

Mum, whats for dinner? The girls want to go to the cinema, and Im starving! Why are you so sad? she asked.

Im still processing the news, I said, sitting down. They told me your father had a child on the side, three years old. The mothers dead, and the boy is now in the childrens home. Someone suggested we take him in.

What? Whos the mother? Victoria asked.

Someone called Kate. I dont know her, she wasnt from around here.

Where is the boy now? Does he have any relatives?

It seems not. Hes in the hospital, paperwork being drawn up. Hes redhaired, looks like his father. Hell be given mashed potatoes and sausages, I suppose.

Victoria lunged for the food, and Lily soon joined her. I watched my daughters, both ginger like James, and thought how strong those genes were.

The next day Victoria announced, Mum, Lily and I went to see the boy at the hospital. Hes funny, chubbycheeked, looks a lot like us. He cries a lot, wants his mum.

We gave him an apple and an orange. He lay in his cot, reaching for our hands. A nurse let us play with him a bit.

Can we adopt him? Lily asked. Hes our brother.

I snapped at my daughter. So now I have to clean up after your fathers mischief? I have enough on my plate already. Im working like a horse, selling vegetables from the garden, and you want to hang another mouth on me?

Kids dont choose their parents, Victoria shot back. Youre a woman, cant you feel for the boy? His dad did him wrong, but hes still family.

I was angry at James, angry at my daughters, and angry at the idea of taking on another responsibility.

The next morning I went to the hospital.

Excuse me, nurse, where is that threeyearold boy, Mickey? I heard theyre planning to send him to a foster home.

You who are you, madam? What do you want? the nurse asked.

I just want to see him. Hes my husbands child from another woman.

Seeing what? the nurse replied. Your daughters were here yesterday, playing with him, even though they werent supposed to. He cried for his mother.

Ill just have a look, not take him home.

I opened the door to the ward and froze. There, in a tiny cot, was a little boy with a mop of ginger curls and bright blue eyes a spitting image of James. He was playing with blocks and, when he saw me, smiled.

Uncle wheres my mum? he asked.

Shes gone, Mickey, I said softly.

I want to go home.

He began to sob. My heart clenched. I stepped closer, lifted him into my arms.

Miss, you cant the nurse shouted, horrified.

Mickey, dont cry, love, I whispered, rubbing his hair.

Uncle, take me home. I have nowhere else to be.

Ill bring you back, I promise. No more tears, alright?

I left the hospital feeling a strange certainty. All my anger melted as I looked at that vulnerable child, so like my own girls.

Fifteen years later, Mickey received his callup papers. He was being drafted into the army.

Answer the phone, son, and listen to your sergeant. Times are uneasy these days, his voice crackled over the line.

Dont worry, Mum, Ill do my best. I wont let you down, he replied, his confidence steady. Ill get a job at the garage once Im out, like our neighbours lad, and keep the family afloat.

I ran my hand through his unruly ginger hair. Life is a narrow track through the woods, sometimes leading us to the most unexpected places. I once thought the universe had dealt me another cruel test, another cross to bear for Jamess betrayal.

Yet hidden among the thorns of bitterness sprouted a tender shoot a boy who was innocent of any fault but being born.

The heart sees what the eyes miss. It recognised in Mickey not foreign blood, but a lonely soul yearning for warmth. It heard not a scream of another mouth to feed, but a quiet plea: Mum. And against logic, fear, and fatigue, I reached out.

Years have shown that kindness is not a sacrifice but a gift. Mickey never proved to be an extra mouth; he became the one who fetched water from the well while I weeded the garden, the one who lifted my daughters spirits when life grew heavy, the one who grew up to say, Thank you, Mum, and in those words the whole world seemed to pause.