The rain was falling hard, the kind that soaked through coats and shoes within seconds. Richard had been walking aimlessly, something he’d begun to do when sleep wouldn’t come. The city streets were nearly empty, streetlights flickering against puddles that reflected a broken sky.
That was when he passed St. Catherine’s Orphanage.
The building was old — brick chipped, paint peeling, windows dimly lit. He had walked past it many times before without thinking much about it. But that night, over the sound of thunder, he heard something else.
Crying.
Soft. Fragile. Persistent.
He paused.
The front door was slightly open, a crack of yellow light cutting through the darkness. Something pulled him closer. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct. Maybe fate.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of baby powder and worn wood. A tired-looking staff member stood at a desk, flipping through paperwork. And in a nearby room, nine cribs stood in two uneven rows.
Nine baby girls.
Some slept. Some cried softly. One reached tiny fingers into the air, as though searching for someone who wasn’t there.
The staff explained the situation quietly. The infants had been abandoned over the course of several weeks. Different stories. Different mothers. But they all shared the same fate — no family.
“We’re trying to find homes for them,” the woman said gently. “But it’s unlikely they’ll stay together. They’ll probably be separated.”
Separated.
The word hit Richard’s chest harder than the thunder outside.
He stepped closer to the cribs. Nine tiny lives. Nine uncertain futures. Nine chances at love.
And suddenly, Laura’s voice echoed clearly in his heart.
Pass it on.
Leave a Comment