Paula Jenkins gripped the steering wheel of her red Toyota car with a death grip, as if it were the only anchor keeping her in reality. The clock on the dashboard mercilessly showed 2:47 PM, and her appointment at the clinic was at 3:00 PM sharp. She was late for her own abortion.

The bitter irony of a woman who had spent her life saving others’ lives, now driving to get rid of her own child. Get rid of, she repeated to herself, savoring the word. Let the doctors call it terminating a pregnancy or a medical procedure, but she knew the truth.

In her womb, a tiny heart was beating, tiny fingers were forming, and in a few hours, it would all turn into medical waste. It started to drizzle. Paula turned on the wipers, and they began their monotonous motion, as if counting down the last minutes of her unborn child’s life.

She was a top-tier cardiothoracic surgeon, a woman who held human hearts in her hands, making them beat again. But her own heart felt shattered to pieces, and no one could glue it back together. 35 years of life, and here she was—alone, betrayed, giving up her own child.

Three months ago, her world was different—stable, predictable, happy. Or so she thought? Alex Jenkins, her husband, the man she had tied her life to, who vowed to love her in sickness and in health, for better or worse. Beautiful words that turned out to be empty sounds.

May 21. That date was burned into her memory like a branding iron. Friday—an ordinary day that turned her life upside down.

Paula was preparing a celebratory dinner; that day marked exactly two years since their wedding. She dreamed that in the evening they would talk about children, maybe finally decide to have a baby. Alex came home with the face of a man sentenced to death.

He didn’t even say hello, just stopped in the middle of the hallway and said the words that splintered her life. Paula, we need to talk. There was no doubt in his voice, no struggle.

Only the cold determination of a man who had already decided everything and was now just performing an unpleasant formality. What happened? She asked, but from his face, she already understood that something terrible had occurred. I’m leaving you.

Four words. Four simple words that destroyed seven years of relationship, four years of living together, two years of marriage, and all their shared plans for the future. Paula stood in the middle of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand.

It smelled like his favorite French fries. Candles were set on the table for a romantic dinner, and her husband was telling her it was over. What did you say? She asked again, hoping she had misheard.

I met another woman. I fell in love. I didn’t plan it, didn’t want it, but it happened.

Then he said something about how it just happened, that she was a wonderful woman, but they didn’t fit each other, that she would find someone better. The standard set of excuses that all men say when leaving their wives. Paula listened and felt something dying inside her.

Not her heart—it continued to beat with painful regularity. Her faith in love, in loyalty, in people’s ability to keep their word was dying. Who is she? Paula asked, surprised by the calmness of her own voice.

Ingrid. She works at our bank. Paula, I didn’t want it to turn out like this.

How old is she? 25. Of course. Young, fresh, without wrinkles around the eyes from night shifts in the department.

Without the baggage of lived years, without fatigue from saving strangers’ lives. How long has this been going on? Three months. Three months.

It turned out that while Paula was building plans for their family future, dreaming of children, buying him birthday gifts, he was already sleeping with another woman. Lying to her face every day, coming home after dates with his mistress and kissing her, Paula, on the lips. Getting into bed with her.

I see, she said in an emotionless voice. Tomorrow I’ll pick up my things, said Alex. I’ll file for divorce myself.

Alex tried to say something else, but Paula turned around and went to the bedroom. She locked herself in and collapsed on the bed. Tears didn’t come; inside there was only an icy emptiness.

The following days passed in a fog. Alex took his things while she was away from home. He left only a note.

Forgive me. You’ll find your happiness. Paula crumpled the paper and threw it away…

She learned the details from mutual acquaintances. Ingrid Swanson, 25 years old, second-category economist, slender blonde with green eyes and a childish laugh. She and Alex had been dating for three months already, meaning he started cheating even before their wedding anniversary.

They went on vacation together to Mexico, on a so-called business trip, while Paula worked, saving strangers’ lives. They booked hotel rooms while his wife waited for him in the evenings and dreamed of children. Paula later saw Ingrid; once she accidentally met them at the mall.

The girl was hanging on Alex’s arm, laughing, carefree and happy. And Paula stood behind a column, looking at the ruins of her family. At the man who two years ago vowed fidelity to her, and now was buying a ring for another woman.

A week after the divorce, Paula felt nausea. At first, she attributed it to stress, but when the nausea didn’t go away on the third day, she bought a pregnancy test. Two lines.

Life seemed to mock her, giving her a child exactly when the family had collapsed. She tried to call Alex, but he didn’t pick up. She wrote a message: I need to talk to you.

It’s important. The reply came three hours later. Paula, we each have a new life now.

And there are no more common topics for conversation. Please don’t bother me. A child from a man who doesn’t even want to hear her.

A child who would remind her every day of the betrayal and pain. How could she look at the baby and not see Alex’s features in him? How could she love this child when every cell of her body screamed in pain?

For two months, she tormented herself, not knowing what to do. Friends advised keeping the child. You’re a doctor, you have a good salary, you’ll manage alone.

But Paula couldn’t imagine herself as a single mother, explaining to the child why dad left them. And here she was, in the car, driving to get rid of her own child. A doctor who had fought for life all her life, now going to take it away.

Tears finally streamed down her cheeks. Paula cried from helplessness, from loneliness, from the fact that life turned out to be so cruel. She remembered her mother’s words.

Daughter, children are a blessing. No matter the circumstances in which they come into this world. Mom died 5 years ago from cancer, and Paula so wanted her to see her grandchildren.

Now she won’t see anyone. 2:55 PM. Time to go.

Paula grabbed her bag with documents and got out of the car. She walked to the clinic entrance like a condemned person going to the scaffold. But at the very doors, something made her stop.

Paula felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. As if the child inside her understood what was happening and was begging for mercy. She turned around and walked back to the car.

She needed a little more time to gather her thoughts. Paula sat in the car, took out a mirror, and looked at herself. Tear-stained face, red eyes.

She looked like a woman who had lost everything. Approaching the car, she saw a small figure in a brown jacket quickly moving away—some boy. Suddenly, she noticed a folded piece of paper under the wipers on the windshield.

It definitely wasn’t there when she parked. Someone had placed it while she was away, possibly that boy, whose face she didn’t see. Paula got out of the car.

With trembling hands, she pulled the note from under the wiper and unfolded it. The handwriting was childish, the letters uneven, but the words were clear. Save the child, it’s all I have.

The world spun around her. Paula leaned against the hood of the car, feeling her legs give way. Who could have written this? Who knew about her situation? And what did these strange words mean? It’s all I have.

She looked around. The parking lot was almost empty, only a few cars stood in the distance. No one was nearby.

The boy had also disappeared from sight. Paula reread the note. The handwriting was definitely childish, but the words carried some adult pain.

It’s all I have. What could a child have that was so important, connected to her unborn baby? She folded the note and put it in the inner pocket of her jacket, close to her heart. Time was passing, and she stood unable to move.

This mysterious note seemed to stop time, making her doubt the correctness of her decision. Save the child. Simple words, but they sounded like a prayer, like the last hope of someone desperate.

Who could ask like that? And why was her car chosen for this message? Paula felt something changing inside her. The pain from Alex’s betrayal hadn’t gone away, but next to it appeared something new—a sense of connection with an unknown person who somehow believed in the importance of her decision. She raised her eyes to the sky, where low gray clouds hung, ready to unleash streams of water on the earth.

This is a sign, she thought. Deep down, Paula had always believed in fate, that life sends us hints in critical moments. Mom taught her that.

Daughter, when you don’t know what to do, listen to the voice of your heart. It never makes mistakes, but now her heart was silent, deafened by the pain of betrayal. But someone else was speaking, someone who somehow knew about her torments and asked to save a life…

Paula slowly walked back to the clinic entrance. Each step was difficult, as if she were walking not on asphalt, but through a swamp. The automatic doors opened, and she found herself in a sterile lobby with white walls and the smell of hospital.

Good afternoon, greeted the receptionist girl. Are you here for Dr. Bell? Yes, Paula Jenkins. Go to room five.

The doctor is waiting for you. Paula went up to the second floor. The corridor smelled of disinfectant.

She stopped at the office door, feeling everything turning inside her. Behind this door waited the procedure that would change everything. The point of no return.

She knocked and entered. Dr. Samuel Bell rose from behind the desk. A man in his fifties.

They had known each other for many years, worked together at the city hospital. Paula, he scanned her with a glance, noticing the red eyes and disheveled hair. What happened to you? Everything’s fine, she replied shortly.

Sit down, let’s talk. Want some tea? No, thank you. Dr. Bell opened her medical file but didn’t start reading right away.

Instead, he looked at Paula attentively. How are you feeling? Morally, I mean. Bad, she admitted honestly.

Very bad. Tell me again why you made this decision? Paula told the story of her divorce, Alex’s betrayal, how he left for a young mistress. She spoke monotonously, without emotions, as if telling someone else’s story.

I see, nodded the doctor. And the child is healthy? No pathologies, completely healthy. Nine weeks, development is normal.

Paula, Dr. Bell took off his glasses and wiped them. I have to ask you, are you absolutely sure about your decision? I. She hesitated. Yes, sure.

Doesn’t sound convincing. Paula took the note out of her pocket and handed it to him. Someone left this on my car.

The doctor unfolded the crumpled paper and read it. His eyebrows rose in surprise. Interesting.

Childish handwriting. Who could have written this? I don’t know. Some boy left it and ran away.

And what do you think about it? I think it’s either a coincidence, or… She paused. Or… Or someone up there is trying to tell me something. Dr. Bell looked at her attentively.

Paula, I’ve known you for many years. You’re a brilliant surgeon, a rational person. But now you’re in a state of severe stress.

In such a state, people sometimes make decisions they regret for the rest of their lives. What do you suggest? Postpone the procedure? For a week? Think calmly, without emotions? If the decision doesn’t change, I’ll be waiting for you. Paula was silent.

Two voices were fighting inside her. One shouted, do as you decided. Don’t let emotions take over.

The other whispered, what if this note is really a sign? What if you’re making a mistake that can’t be fixed? I don’t know, she admitted finally. I’m completely confused. Then it’s too early to make a decision.

Go home, rest. Talk to close people. If in a week you’re firmly sure of your choice, come back.

And if I change my mind, then I change my mind. It’s your life and your decision. Paula rose from the chair.

She felt both relief and confusion at the same time. The postponement gave time to think, but didn’t solve the main problem. Thank you, Dr. Bell.

Paula, the doctor stopped her. What if this note is really a sign? What if someone is trying to help you? Who? Who could know about my problems? I don’t know. But in our profession, we see a lot of inexplicable things.

Sometimes it’s worth trusting intuition. Paula nodded and left the office. In the corridor, she stopped, leaning against the wall.

Her head was spinning, thoughts tangled. What was happening to her life? Three months ago, she had everything. Family, stability, plans for the future.

Now loneliness, pregnancy, and mysterious notes. She went down to the lobby and out to the street. Paula slowly walked to the car, sat behind the wheel, and just sat without starting the engine.

The note lay on the passenger seat. Paula picked it up and reread it again. “Save the child, it’s all I have.”

Strange phrasing. What does “it’s all I have” mean? How can someone else’s child be someone’s everything? She started the car and drove home. On the way, she thought about what to do next.

She needed to find the author of the note, understand who it was and why they wrote those words. Maybe that would help make the right decision. At home, Paula changed into comfortable clothes, brewed strong tea, and sat by the window.

The note lay on the table in front of her, and she examined every letter, every dot, like a criminologist studying evidence. The handwriting was definitely childish. A boy about 10-12 years old, judging by the retreating figure.

He wrote hastily but carefully. Some letters trembled, either from excitement or cold. The paper was ordinary, torn from a school notebook with squares.

Paula picked up the phone and called her best friend, Karen Abrams. Karen worked as a psychologist and could give professional advice. “Hi,” Karen answered after a few rings.

“How are things?” “How did it go?” “The procedure didn’t happen,” said Paula. “I couldn’t. What happened?” Paula told everything—about the boy, the note, the conversation with Dr. Bell, and her doubts.

Karen listened attentively without interrupting. “You know what I think?” she said finally. “Maybe it really is a sign?” “You’ve been tormented by this decision for two months.

If you were absolutely sure, no note could have stopped you. Are you serious? You’re a psychologist, you should explain everything rationally. I’m a psychologist, but I’m also a woman and a mother.

And I know that maternal instinct isn’t fiction. What does it tell you?” Paula fell silent. Maternal instinct.

Every time she thought about the abortion, something inside her contracted in pain. Not physical, emotional. As if the child was already part of her soul…

It says ‘no,’” she admitted quietly. “Then listen to it.” “Alex is the past.

And the child is the future. Your future. But how will I manage alone? How will I cope?” “You’re not alone.

You have friends, colleagues. You’re a doctor with a good salary, you have an apartment. You’ll manage.

And what will people say? What do you care what people say? Your life—your choice.” After talking with Karen, Paula felt a little calmer. But the question of the mysterious note still tormented her.

Who could know about her situation? And what did those strange words mean? She stood up and went to the window. It was already getting dark outside, the streetlights were turning on. Paula looked at the passersby, and suddenly her gaze caught a small figure near the entrance opposite.

A boy about 11-12 years old stood under a streetlight and looked toward her window. He was dressed poorly, worn jacket, jeans with holes, disheveled hair. Paula opened the window and waved her hand.

The boy jerked as if waking from a trance and quickly disappeared around the corner of the building. But Paula managed to see his face. And something in it seemed familiar to her.

Her heart beat faster. Could this be the same child who left the note? But how could he know where she lives? And most importantly, how could he know about her problems? Paula grabbed her jacket and ran out of the apartment. She went down the stairs and rushed out to the street.

But the boy was nowhere to be seen. He dissolved into the evening twilight like a ghost. She walked around the entire yard, looked into all entrances and nooks.

No one. Only rare passersby hurrying home after work. Paula returned to the apartment upset and puzzled.

At home, she called the neighborhood security service. “Hello, this is Paula Jenkins, Garden Street. I have a question.

Have you noticed any homeless children in our area lately?” “Good evening,” a male voice answered. Yes, the patrol reported searching for a boy who appears in different places. Age about 10-11 years.

Not local, presumably ran away from an orphanage. And he hasn’t done anything illegal. No, he just wanders around the area.

We tried to talk to him, but he’s very cautious. As soon as he sees adults, he runs away immediately. I see.

“Thank you,” Paula hung up and thought. A homeless boy from an orphanage who somehow knows about her problems. This was becoming more and more mysterious.

She went to bed late, but sleep wouldn’t come. Paula tossed and turned in bed, replaying the day’s events in her head. The note, the boy at the window, the conversation with Dr. Bell.

All this formed some incomprehensible picture. By morning, she had made a final decision. She needed to find this boy and talk to him.

Only then could she understand what was happening and make the right decision about the child. But where to look for him? Paula knew only that he was homeless, presumably from an orphanage, and that he was very cautious. The patrol couldn’t catch him, meaning the boy was good at hiding.

She got up, took a shower, and had breakfast. She took time off from work for the first time in many years. Now finding answers seemed more important than anything else.

Paula dressed and went outside. She started from the place where she saw the boy yesterday. She walked around the entire yard, questioned the janitor, neighbors.

No one saw anything, and no one noticed a boy about 11 yesterday evening. She asked every passerby. “No, haven’t seen,” people answered, hurrying past.

Paula expanded the search area. She walked around neighboring yards, looked into basements, checked abandoned garages. The boy was nowhere.

By lunch, she was tired and went into a cafe near home. She ordered coffee and a sandwich, sat by the window, continuing to watch the street. “Maybe he needs time to appear again?” “Excuse me,” the waitress, a girl about 20, addressed her.

“Are you by any chance looking for a boy?” I overheard when I was going out, how you were asking people on the street near the cafe. “Yes, I’m looking,” Paula perked up. “Do you know him?” “Possibly.”

“A boy about 11, skinny, in worn clothes?” “Exactly.” “Where have you seen him?” Paula comes here, stands by the window, looks at the food. We tried to invite him, feed him, but he runs away.

Very skittish. And when did he appear last? The day before yesterday morning. Stood for five minutes, then as soon as we started calling him, he left.

And where did he go? Toward the park. There’s a playground there, maybe he’s hiding there. Paula thanked the girl and headed to the park…

It was a small square with a playground, benches, and old trees. On a weekday, it was almost deserted, only a few moms with toddlers. She walked around the entire park, looked behind every tree, checked all secluded corners.

The boy wasn’t there. But he’s somewhere here, in the city, living on the street in November weather. Paula felt she had to help him.

She went to bed with a firm intention to find him tomorrow. But sleep wouldn’t come again. Paula lay in the dark and thought about how he was freezing and hungry.

The next day, Wednesday, Paula planned to spend searching for the mysterious boy again. She decided to use all her time off from work. The morning started with questioning local residents.

Paula approached an elderly woman walking her dog. Excuse me, have you seen a boy about 10-11 here? He’s not local, dressed in an old brown jacket. Oh, that homeless kid! Exclaimed the woman.

Of course, I’ve seen him. He’s been hanging around our area for a week. He stands by one entrance, then another.

Strange kid. What’s strange? Well, not like ordinary homeless kids. Doesn’t beg, doesn’t cause trouble.

Just stands and looks, as if waiting for someone. And if you approach him, he runs away immediately. Do you know where he sleeps? Probably in the basement of one of the houses.

Or in an abandoned garage. Paula thanked the woman and continued the search. She checked all the basements she could find, looked into garages, checked abandoned buildings.

The boy was nowhere. By lunch, she was tired and decided to take a break. She went into a cafe near home.

Sitting by the window, she watched the street, hoping to see the familiar figure. Are you looking for Mike? Someone suddenly asked nearby. Paula turned around.

At the neighboring table sat a girl about 20, with short dark hair and a serious look. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, looked like a student. Excuse me, who are you? My name is Katie.

I work for a charity organization that helps homeless children. I’ve known Mike for a month. Mike? Paula asked again.

That’s his name? Yes. Michael Reynolds. He’s 11 years old.

He’s run away from the orphanage named after MacArthur several times. The last time a month ago. Do you know where he is now? Not exactly.

But sometimes he appears in the park near school number 17 around five in the evening. There’s a playground there, he likes to sit on the swings. Why did he run away from the orphanage? Katie looked at Paula attentively.

And why do you need to know that? Are you a journalist? Social worker? I’m a doctor. And? It’s hard to explain. He left me a note, and I want to talk to him.

A note? That’s not like him. Mike is a very withdrawn child. He avoids contact with adults.

But he left it, insisted Paula. She took out the paper and showed it to Katie. The girl carefully studied the handwriting.

Yes, but strange. What child is he writing about? I’m pregnant, said Paula. Yesterday I was supposed to have an abortion, but I couldn’t.

This boy somehow knew about my situation. Katie raised her eyebrows in surprise. Mike has… peculiarities. He sometimes says things that an ordinary child couldn’t know.

The orphanage staff considered him strange, a bit otherworldly. What peculiarities? He sees things. Feels people.

Can predict some events. I don’t know how to explain it scientifically, but… Abilities, Paula said unexpectedly to herself. What? Katie was surprised.

Nothing, it seemed. Tell me more about him. Katie looked at her watch.

I have time. Want to go to the park? Maybe we’ll see him there. They left the cafe and headed to school number 17.

On the way, Katie told Mike’s story. His mother was named Nina Reynolds. She died in a car accident 5 years ago, when Mike was 6 years old.

He didn’t know his father. The birth certificate has a dash. No relatives were found, so the boy was placed in an orphanage.

At the mention of Nina’s name, Paula stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart beat faster, her mouth went dry. Nina Reynolds? She asked in a trembling voice.

Yes, what? What did she look like? I didn’t know her personally, but I saw photos in Mike’s file. Young woman, light hair, blue eyes. Very fragile-looking.

Paula felt the ground slipping away from under her feet. Nina Reynolds. Her school friend Nina, who disappeared from her life 15 years ago.

Nina, whom everyone considered strange, otherworldly. The girl who could foresee events and read people like an open book. You knew her? Katie asked, noticing Paula’s pale face.

We went to the same school, Paula whispered. She was my best friend until ninth grade. Then her family moved, and we lost touch.

So Mike is the son of your school friend? It turns out so. Now everything was falling into place. The note…

The boy’s strange behavior, his peculiarities. Nina was always special. In school, she was considered eccentric because she could predict who would get an F, what the weather would be tomorrow, when a test would start.

Teachers explained it as observation and intuition, but Paula knew it was something more. They became friends in seventh grade. Nina was a quiet, withdrawn girl who avoided noisy crowds.

But with Paula, she opened up, told about her visions, how she felt people and events. Paula was the only one who understood her and didn’t think she was crazy. Mom says it’s a family trait, Nina told.

She has this gift too, and grandma had it. We see what is hidden from others. Paula envied her friend back then.

It seemed cool to have such a gift. But over time, she realized that for Nina, it was more a curse than a blessing. The girl suffered from knowing too much, feeling too deeply.

In ninth grade, Nina’s family suddenly moved. Paula remembered their last conversation. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Nina said, meeting her after classes.

“Dad got a job in another city. But we’ll keep in touch.” Paula exclaimed.

“No,” Nina replied sadly. “I saw it. Our paths diverge forever.

But someday we’ll meet again. Not us ourselves, but… part of us.” Back then, Paula didn’t understand those words.

Now she did. Nina foresaw that her son would find the pregnant Paula at the moment when she needed a sign. “Katie,” Paula said, stopping.

And what did Mike say about his visions? What has he seen lately? He rarely talks about it. But recently he said he must find a woman in a red car. That she needs help, and only he can give it.

Red car, Paula repeated. I have a red car. So he was looking for you.

They reached the park. The playground was almost empty—weekday, kids in school. Only a few moms with toddlers playing in the sandbox.

No one on the swings. “He usually comes later,” Katie said. “Let’s wait.

They sat on a bench not far from the swings.” Paula mentally prepared for meeting the son of her best friend. What would she say to him? How to explain that she knew his mother? And most importantly, what did his note mean? Katie, does Mike remember anything about his mother? Very little.

In the orphanage, they only told him she died in an accident. Mike suffers a lot from that. He has only rare memories from before six years old, when he was very little.

And the stress from her loss closed his memory even more. “I can tell him,” Paula said. “I knew Nina well.

It would be a gift for him.” He dreams so much of learning about his mother. Time dragged slowly.

Paula looked at the playing children and thought about Nina. I wonder if her friend knew she would die young? Did she foresee her death? And if so, how did she live with that knowledge? At five in the evening, the park began to fill with children returning from school. Paula peered intently at every face, expecting to see familiar features.

And there he appeared. The boy walked slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid he would be chased away. He was skinny, his clothes hung like a sack.

His hair needed a haircut, his face was dirty. But in his eyes, the same blue eyes as Nina’s, shone an extraordinary mind. “There he is,” Katie said quietly.

Mike approached the swings and sat on one. He didn’t swing, just sat and looked around. When his gaze fell on Paula, he froze.

For a few seconds, they looked at each other, and Paula saw surprise in his eyes, then recognition. The boy got up from the swing and slowly approached their bench. He stopped a few steps from Paula and said quietly.

“Did you read my note?” Mike’s voice was quiet but clear. He spoke not like an eleven-year-old child, but like an adult, tired of life. In his blue eyes was wisdom that didn’t match his age.

I got it and read it, Paula replied, trying to sound calm. “How did you know I needed help?” “I saw it,” Mike simply answered. “Saw a woman in a red car who was about to make a big mistake.”

“Saw a child who must be born.” “Saw in a dream?” “Not in a dream. Just saw.”

“Like a movie playing in my head. Katie stood up from the bench. “I’ll leave you to talk alone,” she said.

“Mike, this is Paula.” “She knew your mom.” The boy’s eyes widened.

“My mom?” His voice trembled. “You really knew my mom?” “Yes,” Paula nodded. “We were best friends in school.”

She was an amazing girl. Mike sat on the bench next to Paula, trying not to be too close. Katie walked away to the playground, giving them a chance to talk.

“Tell me about her,” the boy asked. “No one tells me anything.” “They only say she died.

Your mom was special,” Paula began. “She had a gift, like you.” “She could foresee events, understand people.”

“We met in seventh grade when she transferred to our school.” Paula told, and Mike listened with such attention, as if every word was a treasure. She talked about how Nina helped classmates, warning of dangers.

How she saved a girl from injury by foreseeing that the gym bar was about to break. How she knew when one of the teachers would be in a bad mood and tried to warn the kids. “She was very kind,” Paula said.

“But it was hard for her to live with such a gift.” “She felt too much, experienced others’ pain too deeply.” “And why did you stop communicating?” Mike asked.

“Her family moved when we were in ninth grade.” “We lost touch.” “I regret it very much.”..

“Did she say anything about me to you?” Paula thought. What could she say to an 11-year-old boy? That his mother foresaw her own death? That she knew about their meeting? “She said that someday she would have a son,” Paula said carefully. “And that he would be special, like her?” “I don’t want to be special,” Mike said quietly.

“Because of that, they think I’m crazy.” “In the orphanage, they laughed at me.” “And what did you see there that made them laugh?” “Different things.”

“For example, I knew when there would be an inspection.” “Or when one of the kids was going to run away.” “Or when the caregiver would get bad news from her son.”

“When and whose close person would die.” “Adults said I was making it all up.” “But you weren’t making it up?” “No.”

“I really saw.” “Like now I see.” “What do you see now?” Mike looked at Paula attentively.

“I see that you have a boy in your belly.” “He will become a doctor, like you.” “And someday he will save my life.”

Paula felt her heart stop. “Save your life?” “How? I don’t know yet.” “But I saw that moment very clearly.”

“I’m lying in the hospital, feeling bad, and next to me stands a man in a white coat.” “He looks a lot like you.” And he says, “Everything will be fine, Mike.”

“I’ll save you.” “Are you sure it was my son?” “Yes.” And he told me that all this is not a coincidence.

Paula was silent, digesting what she heard. If Mike was telling the truth, then her decision not to have the abortion was right. Moreover, this decision was part of some big plan that she didn’t understand.

“Mike, why did you run away from the orphanage?” “Because I saw that I must be here.” “In this area.” “Saw a woman in a red car who needs help.”

“I understood that if I don’t come, she will make a terrible mistake.” “And you walked around the city looking for a red car?” “Yes.” “For several days, I walked through different areas.”

“And yesterday I understood that it’s time.” “That today is the day when everything should happen?” “Where did you get the pen and paper for the note?” “In the orphanage, there’s always paper and pens.” “I took a sheet from a notebook when I left.”

Paula looked at this amazing boy and felt something changing in her soul. The pain from Alex’s betrayal hadn’t gone away, but next to it appeared something new—a sense of purpose, meaning. “Mike, what are you going to do next?” “They’re looking for you.”

“They’ll return you to the orphanage.” “I know,” the boy said sadly. “But I did what I had to do.”

“Now it doesn’t matter.” “How doesn’t it matter?” “You’re only 11 years old.” “You have your whole life ahead.”

“In the orphanage, there’s no life.” “There’s only waiting.” “Waiting for what?” “For something better.”

But it doesn’t come. Paula felt her heart contract. This boy, the son of her best friend, was completely alone in the world.

He had no one to care for him, understand his peculiarities, believe in his gift. “Mike,” she said, not knowing where these words came from, “what if I come to visit you in the orphanage?” “Visit you?” “Tell you about your mom?” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Will you really do that?” “Of course.”

“You’re Nina’s son, so you’re not a stranger to me, and your child.” “Will you really keep him?” “Yes,” Paula said firmly. “Your note helped me understand that I’m making a mistake.”

“So I helped?” “Very much.” “You saved my son’s life.” Mike smiled for the first time during the conversation.

The smile transformed his face, made him look like an ordinary child. But their conversation was interrupted by Katie’s appearance. She was walking quickly toward them, her face worried.

“Mike, we need to talk,” she said. “I called the police. You can’t live on the street anymore, freeze, starve, and be in danger.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good.” The boy jumped up from the bench. Fear in his eyes turned to resignation.

“I knew it would be like this,” he said. “It’s okay, I’m ready.” “Wait, Paula stood up too.”

“Katie, what if I go with you?” “Explain the situation.” “That might help,” Katie agreed. “You’re a doctor, your word means something.”

The three of them went to meet the police. Two cars stopped at the park entrance. Four people got out, two in uniform and two in civilian clothes.

One of the civilians was known to Katie. “Hello, Sergeant Vladimir,” she addressed a middle-aged man.

“Katie,” he nodded. “Found our runaway again?” “Yes.” “But there are circumstances you need to know.”

Paula approached closer. “Good day.” “My name is Paula Jenkins.

I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon.” “This boy is the son of my school friend.” “I only learned about it today.”

Sergeant Vladimir looked at her attentively. “Can you prove it?” “Of course.” “I have school photos where I’m with his mother.”

“I know her maiden name, place of study, details of her life.” “And what do you suggest?” “I want to help the boy.” “Visit him, care for him.”

“Possibly, in the future, consider adoption.” Mike looked at Paula in surprise. She herself didn’t expect to say those words, but now she understood they were right.

“That’s a serious statement,” said Sergeant Vladimir. “Do you understand that adoption is a complex process?” “I understand.” “But I’m ready to try.”

The policeman thought. “Okay. For now, we’ll take the boy to the orphanage.

And you submit an application for intent to adopt. If everything is in order with the documents and checks, maybe something will work out.” Mike approached Paula.

“Do you really want to adopt me? I want to try,” she answered honestly. “But it’s a long process. You’ll have to wait.”

“I know how to wait,” the boy said seriously. “And I know it will work out.” “How do you know?” “I saw it.”

“I saw us together, you, me, and your son. We’re like a family.” Paula felt tears welling up in her eyes.

This amazing boy, who appeared in her life at the most difficult moment, became a ray of light in the darkness for her. The police took Mike away. He turned to wave goodbye…

Paula waved back, then stood for a long time, watching the car leave. “Are you serious about adoption?” Katie asked. “Absolutely serious,” Paula answered.

“This boy changed my life. Now it’s my turn to change his.” The next day, Thursday, Paula returned to work.

She couldn’t sit at home and ponder anymore—she needed to act. First, she went to the chief physician of the hospital, Dr. Victor Stephens, with whom she had worked for many years. Paula, how are you feeling.

I heard you took time off. Dr. Stephens, I need to talk to you about a personal matter. She told him about her pregnancy, the decision to keep the child, about Mike and adoption plans.

The chief physician listened attentively, sometimes asking clarifying questions. “You know, Paula,” he said finally, “I’ve known and respected you for a long time as a specialist and as a person. If you’ve decided on adoption, you have good reasons.

The hospital will support your decision in every possible way. Thank you. I’ll need a salary certificate, a reference from work.

We’ll prepare everything. And regarding the pregnancy, how do you plan to combine work and motherhood? I’ll work until maternity leave, as usual. After the child’s birth, I’ll take the allotted leave, then return.

I have savings, no financial problems. Good. By the way, we have a new cardiothoracic surgeon, Eugene Coleman.

He moved to us from New York, very experienced specialist. He’d like to meet you, study our methods. Of course, I’ll be happy to work with him.

After talking with the chief physician, Paula went to the guardianship office. There they explained the adoption procedure: submitting an application, collecting documents, medical examinations, psychological testing, checking living conditions. The whole process could take from six months to a year.

You have an advantage, said the guardianship employee Marina Peterson. You knew the child’s mother. Of course, you have a stable job and income, good housing.

But there are difficulties. You’re a single woman, and pregnant. Not all commissions approve such cases.

What can be done to increase the chances? Collect documents carefully, prepare for interviews. It might be worth finding guarantors from colleagues or friends. And most importantly, show that an emotional bond has already been established between you and the boy.

Paula spent the whole day in various offices. By evening, she had a whole folder of documents and a clear action plan. Adopting Mike became her new goal, no less important than giving birth to her own child.

At home, she called Karen Abrams and told about the events of the last two days. “Are you crazy?” her friend exclaimed. “Pregnancy, adoption, one child not born yet, and you want to take a second.

Karen, you don’t understand. This boy is special. And he’s Nina’s son.

What Nina? Nina Reynolds, my school friend. Remember, I told you about her—the girl with peculiarities who predicted events? I remember. But that doesn’t mean you have to adopt her child.

It does, Paula said firmly. He needs a family, and I need meaning in life. We fit each other.

And what will Alex say when he finds out about his child? I don’t know and don’t care about his opinion. He chose his path, I choose mine. The next day, Friday, Paula went to the MacArthur Orphanage.

It was an old building in the industrial district of the city, surrounded by a high fence. Inside, it smelled of disinfectant and institutional food. The walls were painted a dull green, iron benches stood in the corridors.

The orphanage director, Valentina Ivanovna Cherenkova, was a woman in her sixties, with a stern face and strict manners. She received Paula in her office, filled with folders and documents. Michael Reynolds, she said, finding the right file.

Problem child. Run away for the second time. Says strange things, scares other children.

What strange things? Various predictions. He’ll say there will be an inspection tomorrow, or warn that one of the caregivers will have trouble. The staff thinks he’s a bit.

Off. And what do the psychologists say? Psychologists say the boy has developed intuition and a tendency to fantasize. They recommend not paying attention to his inventions.

Can I see him? Of course. But I warn you—he’s withdrawn, distrustful. He hardly talks to strangers.

Valentina led Paula to the common room, where children were doing homework. Mike sat in the corner at a separate table, bent over a notebook. When he saw Paula, his face lit up.

Paula. You came? Of course I came. I promised.

The director looked at them in surprise. You already know each other? Yes, we met yesterday. Paula knew my mom, Mike explained.

I see. Well, talk then. I have things to do.

Valentina left, and Paula sat next to Mike. How are things? Didn’t scold you for running away? Not too much. Deprived of sweets for a week and banned from watching TV.

But that’s nothing. Tell me about your life here. Mike told about the daily routine in the orphanage.

Wake up at seven in the morning, breakfast, school, lunch, clubs or free time, dinner, lights out at nine in the evening. No entertainment, no holidays, no warmth. Do you have friends? No.

Other kids are afraid of me. They say I’m a wizard. Why are they afraid? Because sometimes I know what I shouldn’t know….

For example, when one of them is going to get bad news. Or when a caregiver will be in a bad mood. And can’t you just not say what you see.

I tried. But when I see something bad, I want to warn. And when I warn, they call me crazy.

It’s hard, Paula agreed. Your mom went through that too. Tell me more about her.

Paula told how Nina helped people with her gift. How she once warned the math teacher that she forgot to turn off the iron at home and thus prevented a fire. How she found the neighbors’ lost dog, sensing where it was hiding.

Mom was kind, Mike said. I feel it. Very kind.

And you look like her. They talked for almost an hour. Mike asked many questions about his mother, and Paula answered all, trying to convey the atmosphere of the time when she was friends with Nina.

Paula, the boy said finally, and what about your child? Did you keep him? Yes. Your note helped me make the right decision. So he will be born? He will be born.

In 7 months. And will you really want to adopt me? Very much. But it’s a complex process.

It will take time. How much time? Maybe six months. Maybe more.

Mike thought. I can wait that long. The main thing is there’s hope.

Paula stayed at the orphanage until evening. She met the caregivers, studied the children’s life, talked to the director about the possibility of regular visits. Valentina agreed, especially when she learned about the adoption plans.

If you’re serious, it will be good for the boy, she said. He has no one, and a child needs a family. At home, Paula made a plan for the coming months.

She needed to collect all documents for adoption, pass medical commissions, prepare the apartment for inspection by guardianship authorities. At the same time, be monitored by a doctor for pregnancy, prepare for maternity leave. She took vacation the next week and dedicated it to bureaucratic procedures.

Certificates from the psychiatric and narcological dispensaries, references from work, income certificates, examinations by therapist, gynecologist, ophthalmologist, otolaryngologist. Every day a new office, new documents. On Wednesday, she went to Mike again.

This time she brought a photo album with school pictures. The boy looked at the photos greedily, absorbing every detail. Here’s mom at the school assembly on September 1, Paula showed.

And here’s us on a museum excursion. And this is a photo from the ninth-grade prom. Mom is beautiful, Mike said, examining the picture of Nina in a white dress with a big bow in her hair.

Very beautiful. And you look like her. And why did she leave school after ninth grade? Her family moved to another city.

Dad got a new job. And who is my dad? This was a difficult question. Paula didn’t know the truth about Mike’s father, but saw in the documents that the father field was empty.

I don’t know. She answered honestly. Maybe your mom will tell you herself when you grow up.

How can she tell? She’s dead. People don’t die completely, Mike. They remain in our hearts, in our memories.

And sometimes they find a way to send us important messages. Like my note to you. Exactly like that.

On Monday, Paula went back to work. That same day, an event happened that changed everything. Paula was in the operating room—a complex heart surgery, patient with multiple pathologies.

The operation lasted 6 hours, and when it ended, Paula was exhausted to the limit. She was changing out of her medical clothes when a nurse approached her in the locker room. Paula, you have a visitor.

Says it’s urgent. Who? A man. Alex Jenkins.

Paula froze. Alex. Her ex-husband.

What did he need? She went down to the hospital lobby. Alex stood by the window, back to the entrance. He had lost weight, looked tired.

When he turned, Paula saw something new in his eyes—remorse. Hi, Paula. What do you need, Alex? To talk.

Please. I have nothing to discuss with you. Paula, I know about the child.

She froze. How could he know? From where? Karen told me. I met her by chance.

We talked. Paula, why didn’t you tell me anything? And what should I have said? That I’m pregnant from a man who left me for a young mistress? I came back, Alex said quietly. What? I broke up with Ingrid.

I realized I made a mistake. Paula, I want to come back to you. Paula looked at him and felt.

Nothing. Before, these words would have made her heart beat faster. Now they left her indifferent.

Too late, Alex. No, not too late. We’ll have a child, we can start over.

I realized I love you, that Ingrid was just. An infatuation. Infatuation, Paula repeated.

You destroyed our family for an infatuation. Paula, forgive me. Let’s try again.

No. Why? Because I’ve changed. Because now I have other plans.

I can’t trust a person who has already betrayed me once. But the child. He’s mine too.

Biologically, yes. But you won’t be the father. Paula, you can’t deprive me of the child…

I can. And I will, if you interfere with my life. Alex tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.

Paula, I love you. If you loved, you wouldn’t have left for another. Alex, it’s over between us.

And what about the child? How will you raise him alone? Not alone. I’m adopting a boy from the orphanage. What? Alex couldn’t believe his ears.

Have you gone mad? No. I’ve finally found my senses. Alex, leave.

And don’t come back. She turned and walked to the exit. Alex caught up with her in the parking lot.

Paula, wait. Give me a chance. Give us a chance.

We had no chance from the moment you left for Ingrid. Goodbye, Alex. She got in the car and drove away without looking back.

In the rearview mirror, she saw Alex standing in the middle of the parking lot, confused and depressed. At home, Paula sat by the window for a long time, thinking about the meeting with her ex-husband. Strangely, she felt neither pain nor joy from his return.

Only relief that this chapter of her life was finally closed. Time passed, Paula got used to the new rhythm of life. Work, collecting documents for adoption, regular visits to Mike, doctor’s appointments for pregnancy.

Her belly was already noticeably rounded, the term was 20 weeks. The documents for adoption were almost ready. Only the last commissions remained and waiting for the decision.

Paula tried not to think about the possibility of refusal. Mike had become dear to her, and the thought that he would stay in the orphanage was unbearable. The boy had also changed during this time.

He became more open, started smiling, even made friends with some children in the orphanage. Regular meetings with Paula gave him what he had been deprived of all his life—the feeling that he was needed by someone. “Paula,” he said during one of the visits, “is your child moving already?” “Yes, for several weeks.”

“Do you want to feel?” Mike carefully placed his palm on her belly. At that moment, the child kicked, and the boy surprisedly pulled his hand away. “He’s strong?” “Of course.”

“And soon he’ll be born?” “And can I play with him?” “Of course.” “You’ll be his big brother?” Mike’s eyes lit up. The word “brother” was new to him—in the orphanage, he had no relatives.

“And what will you name him?” “I don’t know yet.” “Do you have a suggestion?” “Maybe Nicholas?” “Like my grandpa?” “Grandpa?” “Well, yes.” Paula nodded.

She remembered Nina’s father—a strict but fair man who worked as an engineer at a factory. “Nicholas is a good name.” I’ll think about it.

That same day, returning home from the orphanage, Paula ran into the new colleague at the hospital that the chief physician had mentioned. Eugene Coleman turned out to be a man about 38, tall, with gray eyes and a calm character. “Paula?” he addressed her in the corridor.

“My name is Eugene Coleman. Dr. Stephens said you’d introduce me to the methods of your department.” Of course, Paula smiled.

“Tomorrow I have an operation, you can assist.” “With pleasure. The operation went excellently.”

Eugene proved to be an experienced surgeon with a steady hand and quick reaction. After the operation, they drank coffee in the doctors’ room and discussed technique features. “You work excellently,” Eugene said.

“In New York, I’ve seen many surgeons, but ones like you are few. Thank you.” “And why did you move from New York to our city?” “Tired of the big city.”

“Wanted to work in a calmer environment.” “And personal circumstances.” “Divorced recently.

Wanted to start life from a clean slate.” Paula realized they had a lot in common. They both went through relationship breakups, both sought new meanings in life.

Over the next weeks, they often worked together. Eugene was not only an excellent surgeon but also an interesting conversationalist. He talked about his work in New York, about complex cases he encountered.

Paula talked about her plans—about the child, adopting Mike. “You’re an amazing woman,” Eugene said one day. “Not everyone would decide on adoption, especially while pregnant.

Circumstances aligned so that I had no choice,” Paula answered. “This boy needs a family, and I need him. Can I meet him somehow? Want to go with me to the orphanage? If you don’t mind.”

The next day, they went to Mike together. The boy was initially wary seeing an unfamiliar man, but Eugene quickly found common ground with him. He told several interesting stories from his practice, showed simple coin tricks he knew from childhood.

“Uncle Gene is kind,” Mike said to Paula when Eugene stepped away to talk to the caregiver. “He’s a good person.” “How do you know?” “I feel it.”

“He has a bright aura.” “Aura?” “Well, yes.” “I see a glow around people.”..

“Good people have a bright one, bad people a dark one.” “Yours is very bright, Uncle Gene’s too.” This was another manifestation of Mike’s gift that Paula didn’t know about before.

The boy could see not only the future but also people’s inner essence. “And what do you see in the future?” she asked. “I see that Uncle Gene will become part of our family.”

Mike answered simply. Paula was surprised. She and Eugene were just colleagues and friends.

But Mike’s words made her think that there might be something more between them. In November, good news came. The adoption commission approved Paula’s application.

Only the last formalities remained: Mike’s consent to adoption and setting the date when he could leave the orphanage. Mike, Paula said, coming to him with this news, the commission allowed me to adopt you. “Do you agree to become my son?” The boy was silent for a few seconds, then threw himself into her arms.

“Yes.” “Of course yes. In two weeks, you’ll be able to move in with me.

Really?” “I’ll live in a real family.” “In a real family.” “You’ll have your own room, your own things, and soon a little brother will appear.”

Mike cried from happiness. Finally, he had a family, a mom, a home. What he had dreamed of all the years after his mother’s death.

Paula cried too. She understood she was taking on huge responsibility—raising a special child who needed understanding and support. But she was ready for it.

That same evening, Eugene called her. “Paula, congratulations on successfully completing the adoption procedure.” Dr. Stephens told me.

“Thank you.” “I’m very happy. I’d like to suggest celebrating this event.”

“Maybe have dinner somewhere?” Paula thought. Over the last months, Eugene had become not just a colleague but a close friend to her. She trusted him, felt comfortable with him.

“Maybe Mike was right, and there could be something more between them.” “With pleasure,” she answered. They had dinner in a small restaurant in the city center.

They talked about work, plans, life. Eugene told about his divorce. His wife left for another, couldn’t forgive his excessive passion for work.

“I blamed myself for a long time,” he said. “Thought I was a bad husband. But then I realized we just didn’t fit each other.”

“I understand,” Paula answered. “I had a similar situation. My husband left for a young colleague.

Hurt?” “It hurt. But now I understand it was for the best. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met Mike, wouldn’t have changed my life.”

“Paula, can I ask a personal question?” “Of course. Have you ever thought about getting married again?” Paula looked into his eyes. There was sincerity, warmth, something more than friendly sympathy.

I have, she answered honestly. “But only if I meet a person who accepts me with all my circumstances. With the child, with Mike, with my work.

And if such a person is found? Then, perhaps, I’ll give him a chance.” Eugene reached out and gently touched her palm. “Paula, I don’t want to rush things.

But I want you to know, I’m ready to be that person.” Paula felt her heart beat faster. Could love appear in her life again? Real, mature love, based not on passion, but on understanding and respect.

“Eugene,” she said, “give me time. There are too many changes in my life right now.” “Of course.”

I’m not in a hurry. Mike moved in with Paula at the end of November. She prepared a room for him, bought new furniture, clothes, school supplies.

The boy was stunned—now all this belonged only to him. “Is this really my room?” he asked, examining the desk, bookshelves, bed with new bedding. “Yours,” Paula smiled.

“You can arrange it however you want. The first days were not easy.” Mike wasn’t used to home life, didn’t know how to behave in a family.

He was very cautious, afraid to break or spoil something, constantly asked permission for the simplest things. “Can I take an apple from the fridge?” “Mike, this is your home. You can take whatever you want.”

“And can I turn on the TV?” “Of course. Just don’t forget about homework.” Gradually, the boy got used to it…

Paula enrolled him in a school near home, introduced him to neighborhood kids, took him to museums and theaters. Mike absorbed new impressions like a sponge. But most importantly, he no longer felt lonely.

He had a mom who loved him and understood him. Who didn’t think he was strange, but was proud of his peculiarities. Paula, he said one day at dinner, “Can I call you mom?” “Of course, son.”

“I’ll be happy.” “Mom,” Mike repeated, tasting the word. “Mom.”

How good it sounds. In December, another important event happened. Eugene proposed to Paula.

Not solemnly, not with a ring and flowers, but simply and sincerely, during one of their walks in the park. “Paula, I want to be with you.” “I want to raise Mike, raise your child.”

“I want us to be a family.” Paula thought long about his words. Over several months of acquaintance, Eugene had become a reliable friend and partner for her.

He understood her work, accepted her decisions, found common ground with Mike. But most importantly, she felt she could trust him. “Yes,” she said finally.

“I want to be with you.” They got married in January in a small ceremony with the closest people present. The boy was happy; he now had not only a mom but also a dad.

“Uncle Gene,” he asked after the ceremony, “now can I call you dad?” “Of course, Mike,” Eugene answered, hugging the boy. “I’ll be proud to be your dad.” Paula looked at them and understood that her life had finally found harmony.

The pain from Alex’s betrayal went into the past, giving way to a new feeling of calm, mature love. Soon the doctors reported the child’s gender. A boy, as Mike predicted.

Paula decided to name him Nicholas in honor of Mike’s grandpa. The boy was delighted with this decision. “Nick will be my little brother,” he told everyone he met.

“I’ll protect him and teach him everything I know.” “That’s wonderful, you’ll be the best big brother.” “Said Paula.”

“I’ll try,” Mike answered seriously. Soon Paula went on maternity leave. Her belly was already big, walking became difficult.

Eugene surrounded her with care, helped with everything, didn’t let her overexert. Mike also took care of her. He brought her tea, read books aloud.

And most importantly, he constantly talked to the unborn brother. Told him about the world he would soon see. “Nicky,” he said, putting his ear to mom’s belly, “soon you’ll be born.”

“You’ll have the best mom in the world and the best dad.” “And I’ll love you very much.” In early April, Mike suddenly became anxious.

He slept poorly, was distracted at school, often approached Paula and looked at her attentively. “What’s wrong, son?” she asked. “I see.”

“Something’s not right,” the boy said uncertainly. “I can’t understand what exactly.” “But I feel worry.

Related to me?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe.” “Mom, be careful.”

Paula didn’t attach much importance to his words. The term was already long—36 weeks, but it was still early for birth. Maybe Mike just felt the approach of this event, but a few days later, his premonition came true.

Paula was home alone, Eugene at work. Mike at school, when she suddenly felt sharp pain in her abdomen. She called an ambulance and called Eugene…

He rushed from the hospital before the ambulance arrived. “What happened?” he asked, seeing his wife’s pale face. “Seems like premature labor.

Or something even worse. At the hospital, the diagnosis was confirmed—placental abruption, threat to the life of both mother and child. An emergency C-section was needed.

Paula, the doctor said, the situation is serious. We’ll do everything possible, but we can’t give guarantees.” Paula lay on the operating table and thought about Mike.

Did his visions mean something would happen to her? Would she not see how Nick grows, how Mike becomes an adult? The operation was successful. Nicholas was born healthy, though premature. Paula was also out of danger, but she faced a long recovery.

Paula woke up after anesthesia. Eugene entered the room, holding a small bundle in his arms. “Paula, meet our youngest son,” he said with a smile.

Nicholas was tiny. Despite the premature birth, all his indicators were normal. Paula took the baby in her arms and felt her heart fill with incredible happiness.

“Nicky,” she whispered, “finally we meet.” A week later, Eugene brought Mike to Paula. The boy sat by the bed and held her hand.

“Mom, you’re alive!” he exclaimed with tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid I’d lose you.” “I’m not going anywhere, son,” Paula smiled weakly.

“And how’s Nick?” “Nick is wonderful.” “Small, but very beautiful.” “Dad said he’ll live in the hospital a bit longer until he grows.

And you? Weren’t scared?” I was scared, Mike admitted honestly. “But I knew everything would be fine. I saw that you both would survive.”

Paula squeezed his hand. This amazing boy, who once left a note on her car, had become a real son to her. And now they had a full family.

Mike carefully touched the newborn’s hand. “Hi, little brother,” he said quietly. “I’m your big brother Mike.

I’ll protect you always.” Nick seemed to hear his words, opened his eyes, and looked straight at Mike. At that moment, Paula understood that her family had finally found completeness.

The pain of the past was gone, giving way to hope for the future. “Mom,” Mike said. “Remember what I said about the note? That it’s all I have.

I remember. Now I understand what you meant. I had no family, no mom and dad.

And your child—was my only hope to find a family. I saw in a dream that if he is born, I won’t be alone anymore.” Paula felt tears welling up in her eyes.

“You were right, son. We all found each other. Eugene hugged them all—his wife with the newborn son in her arms and Mike nearby.

Our family is finally complete,” he said. “And I’m happy that fate brought us all together.” Paula looked at her men—husband, older son, and tiny Nick—and understood that the note on the windshield was really a voice from the past.

Nina’s voice, who through her son helped her old friend make the right decision and find true happiness.