Oh, have you seen the lady in our ward, girls? She’s quite elderly now… – Yes, completely grey. She must have grandchildren, yet here she is – asking for a baby at her age…

Did you see her, ladies? The old woman in our ward? I asked the other nurses, halfsmiling as I leaned against the metal bedside rail. Shes well past her prime, one of them replied, shaking her head. Her hairs turned completely silver. She probably has grandchildren, but at her age shes just a shadow of herself.

I reckon my own mother looks younger than she does, I muttered, chuckling. I wonder how old her husband is.

She keeps to herself, never talks to anyone, another nurse whispered, eyes darting toward the corner where the frail lady sat curled in a blanket.

Its awkward for her, thats why she stays shut off, I said. We all try to be gentle, but Im not even sure what to call her. I think they call her Agnes, though nobody seems to use her first name.

Perhaps its better to use her full name, as proper as the doctor would, someone suggested. The murmurs in the maternity ward rose to a low hum as a expectant mother stepped out for a moment, leaving the room hushed.

Agness life had never been easy. When Emily was four, a typhoid outbreak swept through her family. Her mother, father, infant brother and even her grandfather fell ill and didnt survive. From that day on, Emily was raised by her grandmother Eleanor, a stern, ironwilled woman who knew little of tenderness.

By 1941, Emily and Jack were both thirteen. They lived in separate hamlets in the Lincolnshire countryside but both travelled to the new industrial town of Grimsby to work at the steel mill, where labour was in short supply.

The mill was also where they first met, living in the same cramped council flat above the factory floor. From those early days they toiled side by side with the older lads, never shirking a bit of work.

When Jack turned fifteen, he tried to enlist for the front. Emily, a sprightly girl with a tumble of fiery red hair, was ready to go with him, but the army turned them away. We need you here more than on the battlefield, the recruiter said. The home front needs steady hands.

At eighteen they married quietly; the postwar years left little room for celebration. Emily, much to her grandmothers chagrin, moved in with Jack. Their farms lay about thirty miles apart, but they managed the commute.

A year later their son, William, arrived. The young couple was over the moon, and a gentle peace settled over the household. Their early years were riddled with hardship, but they earned every ounce of joy that came their way.

That happiness, however, proved fleeting.

When William turned six, Emily and Jack still lived as one, the envy of the whole village. Jack worked as a brickmaker, his ovens famed across the county. He was summoned to install a furnace in a neighbouring village across the River Trent. He took little William with him because Emily was at work. A biting cold settled over the landscape, and they trekked over a frozen river.

Jack lugged a heavy toolbox, insisting on using only his own toolshed never trust anyone elses. William romped about, paying little heed to his fathers warnings to stay close. With only a few metres left to the bank, the boy slipped into a hidden crevasse, snow already piled on top. Jack lunged to pull him out, but

Agness own sorrow began early. At twentyfive she had lost both husband and son. The memory of that empty house haunted her, and Emily, unable to bear it, returned to her own childhood home to stay with Eleanor.

Emily withdrew into herself, the spark of life dimming. The thought of forming another family seemed impossible.

Now Agnes was fortythree. At that age, with no husband to lean on, Emily made a deliberate decision. She understood the obstacles that lay ahead, but the prospect of solitary loneliness frightened her more than any future hardship.

The village where Emily lived was remote, the road to it winding and often impassable in winter. Fearing that help might arrive too late, she got to the hospital early, worrying constantly about her babys fragile health.

From the moment she walked the sterile corridors that morning, she felt out of sorts. Eighteen years ago she had lost both her husband and son; time hadnt soothed the ache, the pain still raw.

Emily gave birth to a healthy boy she named Thomas. She never forgot how William used to wish for a brother.

Buy me a little brother, hed said. Dad makes so many toys! Ill play with my brother.

What will you call him? his father asked.

Thomas! he shouted.

Then hell be Thomas! Jack beamed, exchanging a grin with Emily.

At that moment hope flickered again. Jack knew exactly what Emily was feeling, and they agreed not to speak of the tragedy for a while. When the husband and son perished, Emilys grief had stripped her of the will to bear another child. Now Thomas arrived, just as William had dreamed.

Grandma Eleanor greeted Emily and the infant with a sour expression as they left the maternity ward.

Well, why are you crying again, my dear? Emily cooed, soothing the baby.

Dont you dare, Eleanor snarled, her voice creaking. The whole village will have a field day at your expense.

Ive not shown my face outside for a week now. The gossip will start straight away. What am I meant to tell them? That my old granddaughter has gone off her rocker?

In the village, tongues wagged for weeks. Nothing unsettles a rural community more than a fortythreeyearold spinster with a newborn son.

Eleanor kept tearing at Emilys resolve, but within a year she, despite her age, fell ill and passed away quietly.

Emily mourned, even though the old woman had been hard on her, shed nonetheless raised her.

Thomas grew into a handsome young man, tall, darkhaired, and not at all like his mother, whom he adored.

When Emily reached seventy, Thomas, now a father himself, learned his daughter had been born. He and his wife, Susan, hurried to the hospital. Susan lay on the first floor, a radiant smile on her face.

Susan, Susan, Thomas called, his voice trembling with joy. Show me our little girl!

Susan stepped to the window, cradling the infant. Emilys eyes filled with tears, a smile breaking across her face.

Look, Mum! Shes a little redhead! She looks just like you! Thomas exclaimed. For Agnes, seeing her grandson beam with happiness made all the lingering shadows melt away. It seemed the world, after all, could still hold light.

End of story.