she said. “Eleanor and I were close, closer than sisters, even. She told me things that no one else knew.”

He leaned forward, his heart pounding.

“Please, I need to know everything.

I spent my entire life wondering where I came from.”

Margaret gave a sad smile.

“She was always so careful, our Eleanor. Always afraid of what people would think. But one summer, she met a man, a traveler, a free spirit.

He was very different from who we were back then. And she said that he was like no one she’d ever met.”

Father Michael closed his eyes, imagining his mother as a young woman, full of life, swept away by the prospect of love. He didn’t speak; he was afraid that if he interrupted, the truth would slip through his fingers.

“She didn’t even tell me at first,” Margaret continued.

“When she found out she was pregnant, she was terrified. Her family had expectations. A child born out of wedlock would have ruined her.

So, she concocted this story, and she told everyone that she was leaving for the North Pole, studying penguins of all things.”

The old woman chuckled and sighed.

“I thought it was absurd, but she left. She had you in secret and arranged for you to be taken to the orphanage.”

Father Michael’s throat tightened, emotions too tangled up to unravel.

“She gave me away to protect her reputation?” he asked.

“Oh no, Father,” she said. “It wasn’t about reputation, it was about survival.

Eleanor loved you. I knew that. She would check in at the orphanage from time to time.”

“She asked about me?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Margaret said, smiling.

“She kept track, as best she could. She couldn’t be in your life, but she made sure you were safe.”

Father Michael’s heart ached.

“I spent my life thinking that she’d abandoned me. And all this time, she… she was watching from a distance?”

“She didn’t forget you.

It broke her heart, Father. She loved you in her own, quiet way. She just had to do this because it was either this or… who knows what your grandfather would have done.”

She’d loved him, even if he’d never felt it, even if she’d never told him herself.

In the weeks that followed, Eleanor’s family decided to embrace Father Michael with cautious but open arms.

Anna became a steady presence at the rectory, often stopping by with scones or muffins and ever-ready to fill him in on family stories, recounting memories of Eleanor.

One afternoon, as Father Michael sat in his office, Anna came by with a small, worn photo album.

“I thought you might want this,” she said, placing it in his hands. “It’s… all the photos we have of Mom. Maybe they’ll help you piece her together.”

The next day, Father Michael found himself at Eleanor’s grave.

“I forgive you,” he said.

“And I thank you for watching over me.”