Give it somewhere to go.
Richard stepped out into the storm, coat instantly soaked, shoes splashing through shallow water as he hurried up the steps. He rang the bell. The sound echoed inside.
A moment later, the door opened.
A woman in a nun’s habit stood there, her face lined with the quiet patience of someone who had seen too much.
“Yes?” she said gently.
“I’m sorry,” Richard began, voice awkward, embarrassed. “I—I don’t know why I’m here. I just… I saw the sign.”
The nun studied him for a beat, then stepped aside.
“Come in before you catch pneumonia,” she said.
Inside, the air smelled like lemon cleaner and something faintly sweet—maybe oatmeal, maybe baby powder. The hallway was warm, lit by old lamps, and somewhere deeper in the building a child cried briefly before being soothed.
Richard wiped rain off his face. “I’m Richard Miller.”
“Sister Catherine,” the nun replied. “Are you here to donate? Volunteer?”
Richard swallowed. “I… lost my wife. We never had children. I don’t—” His voice caught. “I don’t have a plan.”
Sister Catherine’s expression softened. “Sometimes people arrive here without a plan,” she said. “And sometimes that’s when God does His best work.”
Richard didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he believed in the kind of neat, comforting faith people offered when they didn’t know what else to say. But he nodded anyway, because it was easier than explaining the hole inside him.
Sister Catherine led him down the hall. The storm rumbled outside like distant drums.
“We have many children,” she said quietly. “Some older. Some babies. Some come and go quickly. Some… stay longer than they should.”
They passed a room where two toddlers sat on the floor with wooden blocks. They looked up, curious, then returned to their game.
Richard’s heart twisted.
At the end of the hall, Sister Catherine paused in front of a door and hesitated—just for a second, like she was deciding whether to open it.
Then she did.
The nursery was warm and softly lit. A row of cribs lined one wall. Stuffed animals sat in corners. The air was thick with the unmistakable smell of infant lotion and clean blankets.
And in the far corner—nine cribs close together—nine tiny bundles slept and stirred.
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