Emily perched on the edge of the cot, legs drawn up, and muttered angrily,
I dont want him. Im refusing him. All I want is Andrew, and he said he doesnt want a child. So I dont want one either. Do whatever you like with him it makes no difference to me.
My dear, the matron of the ward interjected, abandoning your own baby is barbaric. Even beasts wouldnt do that.
Emily snapped, Who cares what beasts do? Discharge me right now or Ill make you regret it.
The matron sighed, Youre a foolish, stubborn girl, heaven help you.
Her experience told her that medicine could do nothing for the situation.
A week earlier the newborn had been moved from the maternity suite to the paediatric ward, because his mother, a belligerent and spiteful young woman, flatout refused to breastfeed. No amount of pleading would make her change her mind. She would only allow herself to express milk, but even that was a hollow compromise.
Dr. Emily Hart, the junior paediatrician, fought a losing battle with the defiant mother. The woman threw endless tantrums, and Emily tried repeatedly to explain how dangerous the neglect was for the infant. When Emily warned her that the babys health was at risk, the mother declared that she would run away. Panicstricken, Emily summoned the matron, who spent a frantic hour trying to reason with the irrational mother. The woman insisted she had to be with her boyfriend, claiming he would not wait for her he would leave without her.
The matron would not give up. After many years on the ward she had seen countless mothers like this. We can keep her here for another three days, she said. Let her think, perhaps shell come to her senses. The moment Emily heard the threeday limit, the mother erupted.
Are you mad? Andrew is already furious with me because of this cursed baby, and youre tossing me another problem. If I dont go south with him, hell take Katie. She wailed, accusing everyone of being foolish and saying Katie only wanted to snatch her boyfriend away. The child meant nothing to her except as a bargaining chip for a marriage she hoped to secure.
The matron, exasperated, ordered a dose of valerian and headed for the door. The resident doctor, who had been silent until now, followed her.
In the corridor she paused and asked quietly, Do you really think a child will fare well with a mother like that, if she can even be called a mother?
Emily answered, What can we do? Otherwise theyll send him to a childrens home and then an orphanage. Both families have respectable names hers and the boys so maybe we should speak with the grandparents. Theyre adults, after all, and this would be their first grandchild. Besides, the boy is a fine lad. She instructed Emily to locate the parents details so she could discuss the case with them.
That very day the mother fled. The matron phoned the boys parents, but the young mans family refused even to speak.
Two days later the boys father arrived a dour, unfriendly man. The matron tried to negotiate, offering to let him see the child. He replied coldly that he was uninterested and that his daughter would submit a refusal form via his driver. That wont do, the matron retorted. She must come herself we cant discharge her without her consent. Rules must be followed or well have trouble. The mans face hardened; bureaucratic fear ran deep. He backed down and said he would send his wife to handle the matter.
The next day a small, paleskinned woman entered, perched on the edge of a stool, and began sobbing. She whispered that it was a tragedy. The boys parents had whisked him away abroad; they were wealthy and had big plans, and now this heartbreaking episode unfolded. Their daughter wept for days, shouting that she hated the child. She had first called the boys parents, then announced she would follow them overseas. She vowed to be with Andrew, even if the whole world exploded in anger.
The matron, hearing this, suggested they at least look at the baby, hoping the grandmother might feel something. The grandmothers eyes softened, but only made things worse. She cradled the infant, crying, What a sweet little thing. Id love to take him home, but my husband forbids it, and the mother refuses. She pulled a fresh handkerchief and sobbed even harder.
The matron muttered, Bah, and instructed a nurse to give the woman more valerian, grumbling that such foolishness would soon empty the wards supply of sedatives.
She then reported the whole affair to the chief consultant, a oncerenowned paediatrician. Seeing the babys cherubic face, he smiled and asked what the child was being fed. A little bundle of joy, he said, nicknaming him Biscuit. The nickname stuck.
Biscuits stay stretched over several months. The staff continued to coax his mother, who visited occasionally, playing with him and claiming she was saving money for a ticket to find her boyfriend. With nothing else to do, she kept coming, apparently growing attached. He, too, began to respond, smiling faintly each time she arrived. His own mother would drop by, fuss over the infant, then leave in tears, apologising for her daughters behaviour and calling it obsession rather than love. The matron called it lust, not love.
Both mother and grandmother came and went, never signing any papers, never taking the child. The matron finally sat them down, warning that the infants health was deteriorating. Everyone was on edge, and Emily, whenever she could, rushed to his bedside. Biscuit sweated, his fine hair clinging to his damp forehead. He lost weight, grew weak, and Emily carried him reverently, calling him no longer a biscuit but a little pancake. When his condition improved, he regained his plumpness and became the wards favourite. He loved Emilys bright coral beads; he would reach for them, bite them, and burst into gleeful giggles. Both felt a simple joy in the game.
One day, the mother discovered her boyfriend had married someone else. She erupted, screaming that the whole world conspired to keep them apart, that she hated everyone, especially the baby. If he werent here, Id be with Andrew now and wed be happy, she declared, vowing to file a refusal form so the child would be sent to a childrens home. She believed that by discarding the baby she could still join Andrew. She marched to the chief consultants office, placed the paper on his desk, turned and left without a word.
The chief called the matron in. She returned, pale and angry, and announced, Its done. Shes filed the refusal. The chief wants us to process the paperwork for the childrens home. What else can we do?
Emily burst into tears. The matron sat down, removed her glasses, and began rubbing them obsessively a habit that signalled her nervousness. Everyone knew that when the stern matron polished her lenses, she was on the brink of breaking. Yet she kept her composure.
In the meantime, Biscuit played happily in his cot. A nurse entered, greeting him as she always did. He chirped enthusiastically, waving his tiny arms and legs. Suddenly he fell silent, as if listening to something beyond the room. The nurse, uneasy, leaned close. When she met his gaze, an inexplicable pain tightened her chest and tears streamed down her cheeks. She later learned that her reaction coincided with the mothers signing of the refusal form.
The matron snapped, Enough of this nonsense. She dismissed the superstitious chatter, insisting that the childs fate lay in their hands, not in fates whims.
Abandoned children sense rejection. Whether it is a whisper from an unseen angel or an inner ache, they learn to shrink, to become invisible, hoping the world will not notice their absence. Hunger or a fever does not change the fact that no one will read them a bedtime story or pull a blanket over them. The indifferent world may lavish gifts on some while discarding others. The child wonders why he is unwanted, what he did wrong, but no answer ever comes.
Yet hope remains: a small kindness can tilt the scales, and even in a cold world, compassion still flickers. Trust that the light will find you, dear child, and hold fast to it.
From that day onward Biscuit lay quietly in his crib, his eyes solemn, his smile rare. Emily tried everything to coax him, offering beads, toys, and gentle words, but he stared back with a grave stare. One afternoon, frustrated, Emily shouted, Were betraying him! Those monsters first, now us! He didnt ask to be born into this misery! I hate it! She sank onto a sofa, head in her hands, whimpering. The matron rose, sat beside her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
My dear, I dont know what to do myself. I feel for Biscuit more than words can say. What a horrible job this is, she sighed.
Emily responded, I wont just sit and wait Ill act.
The matron snapped, Then stop sitting and start doing. Dont talk about adopting him theyll never let you. You live in a flat, you have no husband thats two reasons enough not to even consider it. Ive seen more Biscuits than I can count. Lets make a deal: you have three days to find a family for him.
And so Emily set out to locate the best possible parents for Biscuit. She poured her heart into the search, and even the hospital staff rallied behind her. Eventually, an ideal couple appeared: Lana and Leo, both in their early thirties, childless after many years of longing, ready to adopt. Lana was a graceful woman with a soft smile and a melodic voice; Leo was broadshouldered, disciplined, and clearly adored his wife. Their home was bright and welcoming.
When they entered the ward, the matron could not hide a brief, surprised whistle. Apologies, thats admiration. Its not every day you see such a fine gentleman, she chuckled, then asked, What was his birth weight, love?
Leo blinked, Im not sure do you need that for the adoption?
Lana laughed, He wont remember his birthday, but well get the details from the nurse.
The matron reassured them, Weight isnt crucial now. You just look like his perfect match.
Lana stepped into the nursery, and Biscuit, asleep, turned a rosy hue, his tiny fingers splayed. A single tear glistened in his eye. He opened his eyes, scanned the room, and when his gaze landed on Lana, he froze. Then he reached out, clenching her thumb with surprising strength. Laughter erupted as staff praised the sprightly infant. Lana and the baby stared at each other, an unspoken connection forming.
Biscuits faint smile widened, and Lana mirrored it, nodding tenderly. He let out a soft squeak. The room fell into a gentle hush, each person feeling the significance of the moment. The matron cleared her throat and said, Lets wrap this first meeting. You can go home, discuss, and decide
Lana replied calmly, Weve already decided.
The matron raised eyebrows, the husband glanced at his wife, then said, Yes, weve spoken, we want this little boy.
Lana smiled at Biscuit, extended her hand once more. He clutched it tighter, refusing to let go. A quiet tension lingered, then the matron intervened, His grasp reflex is strong at this age.
Lana responded, Hes simply afraid Ill leave.
She looked at Biscuit lovingly and said, Please let me go now, love. Ill be back, I promise. You must trust me.
Biscuit hesitated, then relaxed his grip. He broke into a bright grin, his single milk tooth flashing, and let out a delighted chirp.
The matron whispered, Its just a reflex, and hurriedly wiped her glasses, muttering about the dwindling supply of calming tablets.
Biscuits story, once tangled in abandonment, now unfolded into hope. The lesson that emerged for all who witnessed it was clear: even when society discards the most vulnerable, compassion and perseverance can rewrite a childs destiny. Those who choose to see the worth in every little life make the world a kinder place for everyone.
