My Dearest One. A Story When Marina Discovered She Was Raised by Adoptive Parents Marina still could hardly believe it: she had grown up in an adoptive family. But there was no one left to talk things over with—her adoptive parents had passed away, one after the other. Her father went first, falling ill and never recovering. Then her mother followed. Marina sat by her mother’s bedside, gently holding her frail and lifeless hand. Her mother was fading fast. Suddenly, Marina saw her mother open her eyes a little— “Marina, love, your dad and I never found the words to tell you… we found you, darling. Yes, found you in the woods, lost and crying. We waited for someone to come looking for you, reported it to the police, but no one ever searched. We didn’t know what happened, but eventually, they let us adopt you. At home, in the chest of drawers with my paperwork, you’ll find it all there. Letters, clippings… Read them, sweetheart. And forgive us.” Her mother closed her eyes and was still. “Oh, Mum…,” Marina whispered, pressing her mother’s hand to her cheek, “Mum, I love you, and I need you to get better.” But the miracle didn’t come. Days later, her mother passed away. Marina wished now that her mother had never told her anything. She didn’t tell her husband or her own children about her mother’s final confession. She pushed the knowledge to the farthest corner of her mind, as if it had never happened. The children had adored their grandmother and grandfather. Marina didn’t want to trouble anyone with this unsettling truth. But one day—driven by some inexplicable feeling—she opened the folder her mother had mentioned. A newspaper clipping, letters, official replies. Marina started reading and couldn’t stop. How kind and loving her parents had been! They had found her, Marina, a little girl of eighteen months, alone in the woods. They were over forty with no children of their own. Suddenly, this tiny, crying girl reached for them. The village constable could do nothing—no one reported a missing child. So they adopted Marina. But her mother kept searching for Marina’s birth family. Maybe not to find them, but just for reassurance: that no one would ever try to claim their precious daughter. Marina slammed the folder shut and tucked it out of sight. Who needed that kind of truth? A week later, Marina was unexpectedly called into HR: “Marina, you’ve had someone enquiring about you from your previous workplace.” A woman about Marina’s age sat next to the HR manager. “Hello, my name is Nadia. I really need to speak with you,” she said, looking over at the HR manager. “It’s about some letters from Lyubov Ivanovna Ilyina. You’re her daughter, right?” “I thought you were here from a previous job,” huffed the HR woman. “Personal matters should be sorted out in your own time.” “Nadia, let’s step outside to talk,” Marina suggested. “I’m sorry, this is all a bit strange, but I made a promise,” Nadia began, clearly nervous. “About three years ago, I saw my first teacher. I went to primary school in Waverly; she’d moved there. She was old, lonely, and invited me in for tea. She asked me for help—her daughter had disappeared as a child, and she’d been corresponding with your mother.” “I’m sorry, Nadia,” Marina replied stiffly. “Mum has died, and I’m not involved in any of this.” “I understand,” Nadia said softly. “The thing is, my teacher, Mrs Vera Watkins, is very ill. They say she doesn’t have long—cancer. She desperately wants to find her long-lost daughter, whom she’s searched for her whole life. She even gave me a lock of hair, hoping for a DNA test. Imagine that.” Marina was ready to end the conversation, but something stopped her. “Did you say she’s very ill?” Nadia nodded. Marina accepted the envelope with the lock of hair and agreed to keep in touch. A week later, they travelled together to visit Vera in hospital. Upon entering her room, Vera, nearly blind, squinted up at them. “Oh, Nadia, you’ve come! Thank you, dear,” she murmured gratefully, eyes shifting questioningly to Marina. “Mrs Watkins, I found her. This is Marina—she wanted to come herself,” Nadia said, handing Vera an envelope. “What’s this? Even with my glasses, I won’t be able to read it,” Vera said, her eyes imploring. “It’s the DNA result,” Nadia explained, unfolding the sheet. “It confirms—you’re Marina’s mother.” Vera’s face transformed with light and happiness. Tears of joy escaped her. “My darlings, my dears, thank you,” she cried, reaching out to Marina. “My precious one… such happiness. I’ve found you. Alive, beautiful, so much like me when I was young. My dearest. For years I woke up in the night, convinced I could hear you crying, calling for me. I cannot be forgiven. Alive—alive! Now I’m at peace.” After a while, Nadia and Marina left Vera’s side. Exhausted, Vera had drifted off to sleep. “Thank you, Marina. Thank you. You made her so happy; she hasn’t got long left.” A few days later, Vera passed away. Marina tore up every paper in her mother’s folder. She didn’t want anyone to know this unnecessary truth. But was there really anything to know? After all, for Marina, there had never truly been another mother. And Vera? That was a sacred, merciful lie. Was it the right thing to do? Marina believes it was the best choice. In the end, each person must answer to God for everything they have ever done.

Dearest One

Alice had learned the truth: she had grown up in an adoptive family.

She still struggled to accept it. There was nobody left with whom to talk about it now; her adoptive parents had both passed away, one after the other. First, her father faded; he took to his bed and never rose again. And then, soon after, her mother followed.

Alice had sat by her mothers bedside, clutching her frail, lifeless hand. Her mother was slipping away. Suddenly, Alice noticed her mother stirring, her eyes fluttering open just a little.

Alice, love, she whispered weakly. Your father and I never managed to tell you we just couldnt find the words. We found you, dear. Yes, we really did. In the woods, crying, lost. We waited, reported you to the police but nobody came looking. Perhaps something happened, I dont know. They allowed us to adopt you.

In the sideboard, where all my documents are, youll find some papers letters. You have a read. Forgive us, darling. Her mothers voice slipped away with her strength, closing her eyes.

My darling Mum, Alice murmured in confusion, pressing her mothers hand to her cheek, I love you. I just want you to get better.

But the miracle didnt come. A few days later, her mother was gone.

Alice almost wished her mother had said nothing at all.

She said nothing of her mothers final confession to her husband and children. In truth, she all but buried it in some remote corner of her mind.

The children had adored their grandmother and grandfather. Alice felt there was no reason to disturb anyone with a truth nobody needed.

But one day, gripped by a strange compulsion, she opened the folder her mother had mentioned.

Clippings from the local paper, official requests, formal replies. She started reading and couldnt stop. Her dear, loving parents!

They had found herlittle Alice, fifteen months oldalone in a Hampshire wood. They were in their forties, and had never been blessed with children. And suddenly, a tearful little girl was reaching out to them with chubby arms.

The village bobby had thrown up his handsnobody reported a missing child.

So they adopted her. Yet her mother never stopped searching for Alices birth family.

It seemed, by then, it was not so much to find them, but to be sure that no one would come to take their precious daughter away.

Alice slammed the folder shut and pushed it deep onto the shelf. Who needed this kind of truth?

A week later, Alice received a call from Personnel.

Alice Thompson, youve got someone asking after you from your old job.

A woman about Alices age was waiting beside the HR manager. Hello, my name is Hope, she began anxiously, glancing at the manager. Im here about the letters from your motherMargaret Thompson? Youre her daughter?

I was told it was a work matter, the HR manager interjected sharply. Personal matters should be in your own time.

Hope, lets step outside, Alice suggested. They left under the managers disapproving gaze.

Im sorry, its a strange story, but I promised, Hope began nervously. About three years ago, I ran into my infant school teacher in Oakfield. Id learned from her when I was a child, but shed retired and grown rather lonely. She invited me in for tea, and asked for my help. She said shed lost her daughter many years agojust a little girland she had written letters to your mum.

Im sorry, Hope. Mum passed away. Ive not looked into any of this, Alice answered curtly, turning aside.

I understand, truly, Hope pressed gently. But my old teacher, Mrs. Vera Barnes, is horribly ill nowcancer, they say its only a matter of time. She wants desperately to find her daughter, who shes searched for all her life. She even gave me a lock of hair, hoping for a DNA test. Can you imagine?

Alice was ready to end the conversation, but something made her pause.

Shes that ill, you say?

Hope nodded.

Alice took the little packet containing the hair, and they agreed to keep in touch.

A week later, Alice and Hope travelled together to the hospital to see Mrs. Vera Barnes.

They stepped quietly into the ward. Vera peered at their faces, failing eyesight searching hopefully.

Oh, Hope, youve come! Thank you, love, she said, blushing with shy gratitude before turning a questioning gaze on Alice.

Mrs. Barnes, I found her. This is Aliceshe wanted to come herself, Hope told her, handing over the envelope.

Whats this? I can hardly see the words, even with my glasses, Mrs. Barnes fretted, her gaze bewildered.

Its the test result, Hope replied, pulling out the paper. It says youre related. Alice is your daughter.

Veras face lit up. The years seemed to fall away as tears of relief filled her eyes.

Darlings, thank youthank you so much, she whispered, reaching for Alices hands. My dearest, what happiness. Ive found you. Alive, beautiful, just as I was when I was young. My darling girl, all my life Id wake in the night, certain I heard you crying for me.

There can be no forgiveness for me.

But youre alive, alive, thats all I need. Now I can rest.

Some time later, Hope and Alice left the hospital room. Vera had drifted into uneasy sleep, utterly exhausted.

Thank you, Alice, truly. You saw how ill she is. Youve made her happy, Hope said quietly.

A few days later, Vera Barns passed away.

Alice tore up every paper in her mothers folder. She didnt want anyone to ever know that unnecessary truth.

And truly, there was nothing to knowfor Alice had never had any mother but one.

And Vera Barnes? That was just a holy falsehood. Was it the right thing to do? Alice believed it was for the best.

In the end, everyone must answer to God alone for what they have chosen to do.