After a long night shift, all I wanted was to collapse into bed and forget that the world existed. But that morning, something unexpected happened—something that changed my life forever.
I had just finished a twelve-hour shift at the maternity ward. My feet ached, my eyes burned, and all I could think about was sleep. I loved my job—helping bring new life into the world was beautiful—but some nights drained me completely.
As I walked to the bus stop, the sky was turning soft pink, and the city was just beginning to wake up. That’s when I noticed him.
A little boy, maybe five or six, sat alone on the bench. His legs dangled off the edge, and a small blue backpack rested on his knees. He looked so tiny against the wide, empty street.
I hesitated. Maybe his mom’s nearby, I told myself. Maybe she just ran to grab coffee.
When the bus finally arrived, I stepped up to the door—but something inside me stopped. I turned back to the boy.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said gently. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
He looked up at me with big brown eyes. “I’m waiting for my mom.”
That seemed reasonable enough. I smiled, nodded, and got on the bus. But as I rode home, the image of that little boy wouldn’t leave my mind—his serious face, his small hands clutching that backpack.
A few days later, I saw him again. Same place. Same bench. Same lonely look. I slowed down, heart twisting. Surely his mom wouldn’t let him sit here every morning, I thought. But when I saw him again the next day—and the day after—I knew something was wrong.
That morning, before work, I walked over. “Hey,” I said softly. “Still waiting for your mom?”
He nodded, swinging his legs.
“Do you know when she’s coming?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m just waiting.”
The wind was sharp that morning, and I noticed how thin his jacket was. His little hands rubbed together, trying to stay warm.
I sighed. “It’s too cold to stay out here. How about you come with me for a bit? I work nearby. We can wait there.”
He looked worried. “But what if my mom comes and can’t find me?”
I pulled a crumpled paper from my bag and scribbled a note. Ethan is with Claire at the hospital. You can call this number to find him.
“There,” I said, placing the note under a rock. “Now your mom will know exactly where you are.”
He studied the note, then looked up and took my hand. “Okay.”
As we walked toward the hospital, I promised myself that when his mother finally showed up, I’d have a serious talk with her. No child should be left sitting alone at a bus stop.
I left Ethan in the playroom at the hospital before starting my shift, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept checking my phone, waiting for a call from his mother. None came.
By lunchtime, worry gnawed at me. I went to get him and took him to the cafeteria. He held my hand the whole way, like we’d known each other forever.
“Are you having fun here?” I asked as we sat down.
“Yes! There are lots of kids, and they play with me.”
“Doesn’t anyone play with you at home?”
He shook his head. “No.”
I tried to keep my tone light. “Your mom hasn’t called yet. Do you know her name? Maybe I can help find her.”
He smiled faintly. “Her name is Mom.”
I chuckled. “I know that, silly, but does she have another name?”
“I don’t know it.”
“Do you know where she works?”
He shook his head again.
“What about where you live?”
He looked down. “No. But when I see her, I’ll know. And she’ll know me too.”
His voice was so sure that it made my chest ache.
“Ethan,” I said gently, “who do you live with now?”
“My foster family,” he said quietly.
My heart sank. “Have you ever met your mom?”
He shook his head. “No. But she’s coming for me. Every kid has a mom.”
That last line nearly broke me.
Then he looked up. “Do you have kids?”
I smiled sadly. “No. I can’t have children.”
He nodded seriously. “But I have a mom. She just lost me, that’s all. She’ll find me soon.”
I had to blink back tears. “After I finish work, we’ll take you home, okay? Your foster parents must be worried.”
He frowned. “They’re not. I run away a lot. They used to look for me, but now they know I’ll come back.”
I clenched my jaw, anger bubbling inside. How could anyone let a six-year-old wander off like this?
When my shift ended, Ethan was waiting for me by the entrance, smiling. As we stepped outside, he tugged on my sleeve.
“Claire,” he whispered, “will you help me find my mom?”
“I don’t know how, sweetheart,” I said softly.
“I don’t want to stay with them forever,” he murmured. “I just want my mom.”
That broke something in me. I knelt and looked him in the eyes. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll try to find her. I promise.”
His face lit up, and he hugged me tight. “Thank you.”
In the taxi, he fell asleep against my shoulder. I brushed his hair back and whispered, “We’ll find her, Ethan.”
When we arrived at his foster home, a tall, impatient man opened the door. “Finally,” he grumbled. “Get inside.”
Before he could close the door, I said firmly, “You shouldn’t let him wander alone. He’s just a child.”
The man scowled. “We try, but he always runs off. What do you want us to do?”
“Be responsible,” I said sharply. “He’s your duty now.”
“That’s none of your business,” he snapped, slamming the door.
The next morning, I stepped off the bus near the hospital—and froze. Ethan was sitting on the same bench, waiting.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, shocked.
He smiled. “You said we’d look for my mom, remember?”
I sighed. “I did—but I have to work today.”
“That’s okay,” he said cheerfully. “I can play with the other kids while you work.”
That innocence—it broke my heart.
“Ethan,” I asked suddenly, “when’s your birthday?”
“June fifteenth,” he said proudly. “I’m six and a half!”
My heart raced. That meant he might’ve been born at my hospital.
Later that day, when things quieted down, I slipped into the archive room. I searched the records for babies born that day six years ago. Only one boy.
When I saw his name—Ethan—and the mother’s name beside it, my breath caught. The notes said she’d died giving birth. No relatives. No one to claim him.
I pressed my hand to my mouth as tears blurred the words. She was only twenty-six.
That evening, I took Ethan home again. “Did you find her?” he asked, eyes full of hope.
I forced a smile. “Not yet.”
He nodded. “It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow.”
When we arrived, he asked quietly, “Will you come see me again?”
“Of course,” I said.
But instead of going home, I told the driver to take me somewhere else—a small cemetery. I found her grave easily. Her name, her birth date, and the date she died—the same day Ethan was born.
I stood there for a long time, the wind cold on my face. She never got the chance to be a mother, and I never got the chance to have a child. But maybe… maybe that could change.
Without hesitation, I went back to Ethan’s foster home.
When the man opened the door, he sighed. “You again?”
“I need to see Ethan,” I said.
He called out, “Ethan! Someone’s here for you!”
Ethan appeared, sleepy and barefoot. “Did you find my mom?” he asked softly.
I knelt down and smiled through tears. “Ethan… would you like me to be your mom?”
For a moment, he just stared. Then he ran into my arms, hugging me tight. “You found me,” he whispered through his tears. “You found me, Mom.”
And in that moment, I knew—we had both been waiting for each other all along.