Finding hope is a terrifying thing when it appears on a child who has the exact same birthmark as your late son.
It has been five years since I said goodbye to my son, Ash. On some days, the pain still feels as sharp as it did during that very first phone call. Most people recognize me as Ms. Wren, the dependable kindergarten teacher who always has extra tissues and bandages ready.
But behind my daily habits, I live in a world that is permanently missing one person.
I used to believe that time would heal the wound.
My life fell apart the night I lost Ash. The most difficult part isn’t the funeral or the quiet house; it is how the world keeps moving forward even when your own life has completely stopped.
He was only 19 the night my phone rang.
I still remember how my hands trembled as I picked up, while Ash’s half-finished cup of cocoa was still sitting warm on the counter.
“Yes. Who is this?” I whispered.
“This is Officer Reed. I am so sorry. There has been a terrible accident. Your son —”
I held the phone tight against my ear, as the entire world seemed to shrink down into that one single voice.
“A taxi. A drunk driver. He didn’t… he didn’t feel any pain,” the officer tried to explain.
I cannot even remember if I was able to say a word in response.
The following week disappeared into a blur of donated meals and quiet prayers.
Friends and people I didn’t even know came and went, their voices turning into a low, steady hum. Mrs. Lowe from next door brought me a lasagna and gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“You are not by yourself, Wren,” she told me, her voice shaking.
I tried my best to believe her.
At the burial site, Pastor Moss offered to walk with me to the grave.
“I can do it on my own, thank you,” I said firmly, even though my legs felt like they were about to give out.
I pressed my palm against the cool dirt and whispered, “Ash, I’m still right here, baby. Mom is still here.”
Five years passed by before I even realized it. I stayed in the same house, worked hard at my teaching job, and tried to find a way to laugh when my students showed me their messy drawings.
“Ms. Wren, did you see my artwork?”
“It’s wonderful, Ben! Is that your puppy or a giant dragon?”
“It’s both!” he said with a big smile.
And moments like that were what kept me going.
It was Monday morning again. I parked in my usual spot, whispered, “Let me make today meaningful,” and walked into the building as the morning bell rang.
Jo at the front desk gave me a wave, and I smiled back, carrying my bag and a sense of peace that I had worked very hard to pretend I had.
My classroom was already busy. I handed Sam a tissue and began our usual morning song.
I appreciated how the daily routine helped soften the sharp edges of my memories.
At 8:05, the principal, Principal Hill, showed up at my door, speaking in a serious, quiet voice.
“Ms. Wren, do you have a minute to talk?” she asked.
She led in a small boy who was holding a green raincoat, his brown hair was a bit long, and his big eyes were looking all around my room.
“This is Kai,” she announced.
“He just moved here. The new school boundaries changed half of our kindergarten lists last week,” Principal Hill added, acting as if it were a normal thing.
Kai gave a small nod, looking polite but a little nervous.
He let Principal Hill lead him toward me, his little hand holding onto the strap of a dinosaur-themed backpack.
“Hi, Kai. I am Ms. Wren,” I said, my voice staying calm out of habit. “We are very happy you are here.”
Kai shifted his weight back and forth, looking around the room. Then he tilted his head in a small, careful way and gave me a tiny, crooked smile.
That was the moment I saw it.
A crescent-shaped birthmark, right under his left eye. My body felt it before my brain could process it — it was as if my grief had learned how to recognize faces.
Ash had the exact same mark in the exact same spot.
I froze, counting back the years I had been trying to survive.
My hand reached out for the desk to keep my balance. The glue sticks rolled off and hit the floor.
Mia yelled out, “Oh no, Ms. Wren! The glue!”
I forced myself to smile. “It’s okay, honey. No harm done.”
I looked over at Kai again, searching his face for any clue — something, anything to prove this was just a random coincidence.
But he just looked back at me, tilting his head the same way Ash used to do when he was paying close attention.
“Okay, everyone, look at me,” I called out, clapping my hands twice.
“Kai, would you like to take a seat by the window?”
He gave a nod and sat down.
The sound of his breathing felt like it landed right in my chest. It was Ash at age five, asking for a drink at the breakfast table.
I kept myself busy: passing out papers, reading “The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” and humming our cleanup song a bit out of tune.
If I had stopped moving, I might have started sobbing right in front of twenty-five children — and I wasn’t sure what would hurt more: their sadness for me or their questions.
But my mind was stuck on every move Kai made — how he looked at the fish bowl, how he quietly gave Ava the last piece of apple from his snack.
During our group time, I knelt down next to him, feeling my nerves starting to fray.
“Kai, who is coming to get you after school today?”
He looked happy. “My mom and my dad! Both of them are coming today!”
I gave a nod.
“That is wonderful, sweetie. I look forward to meeting them.”
The day moved slowly, every minute feeling heavy with both hope and fear. I stayed late, making the excuse that I needed to clean the art supplies, but I was really just waiting for pickup time.
The after-school room eventually became empty.
Kai stayed behind, humming quietly to himself and looking at an alphabet book just like Ash used to do.
A little later, the door to the classroom opened. Kai jumped up with a huge, happy grin.
“Mom!” he shouted, dropping his bag and running right into a woman’s arms.
She was taller than I remembered, her hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and her face looked a bit older, but I knew her instantly.
Fern.
She stopped moving, her smile disappearing as our eyes met. I stood there frozen, the papers in my hands shaking.
“Hi… I am Ms. Wren. Kai’s teacher,” I finally managed to say.
Fern’s mouth opened slightly.
“I… I know who you are. Ash’s mother…”
Kai, not noticing anything, pulled on her sleeve.
“Mom, can we go get chicken nuggets?”
Fern forced a smile, but she never looked away from me. “Yes, baby. Just… give me one second.”
Other parents were still around, watching. They were always curious to meet the new parents in the class.
One mother, Jen, tilted her head as if she was trying to remember Fern’s face.
“Wait… Fern? May’s daughter?” she asked a bit too loudly.
“From West Ridge?”
Fern’s body went stiff. A few other people turned to look.
And then Jen looked over at me.
“Oh my goodness… you are Ash’s mom, aren’t you?”
Principal Hill walked closer, sensing the tension in the room.
I could already see how these people were judging me: the sad teacher, unstable and acting strange.
“Ms. Wren, are you doing okay?” she asked softly.
“Yes, it’s just my allergies,” I answered much too fast.
Fern looked at the floor for a moment before she spoke. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
Principal Hill nodded and took us into her office, shutting the door behind us.
We sat down, and the air felt heavy with things we hadn’t said. Fern stared down at her hands. I sat with my hands in my lap, my knuckles turning white.
“I have to ask you something,” I said, my voice quiet but steady.
“And I need you to tell me the truth, Fern. Is Kai… is he my grandson?”
Fern looked up, her eyes filled with tears that she was trying not to let fall.
For a second, everything inside me felt loose, then tightened up again, feeling sharp and intense.
First I felt relief — then panic, because if he was real, it meant he was someone who could be taken away.
“He has Ash’s face,” I whispered.
Fern wiped her face with her thumb, trying to get control of herself.
“Do you want the honest truth?” she said with a thin voice. “I should have told you. I let my fear stop me from doing the right thing. I was terrified. I had just lost Ash.”
“That is why I couldn’t bring more pain into your life, Wren,” she said. “You were already struggling so much. But I was there, all alone with this secret.”
I leaned forward, my hands gripping each other tightly.
“I wish you had told me, Fern. I would have wanted to know. I needed a part of him to live on.”
She shook her head, her voice shaking.
“I was only 20. And I was scared you would try to take him away, or that I would just be one more problem for you to deal with.”
“This is my son’s child,” I said softly. Even I could hear the sharp tone in my voice.
Fern went stiff.
“He is my child too, Wren. I carried him, I raised him, through every hard time. I am not going to just give him to you like a coat you forgot at a party.”
A long silence sat between us, feeling heavy and very real.
“I am not here to take him away from you, sweetie. I just want the chance to know him. I want to love what is left of Ash.”
The words came out of me before I could think to stop them.
“I could take him this weekend,” I suggested.
“Just for some pancakes or a trip to the park —”
“No.”
Fern’s head snapped up.
That one word hit me hard. I swallowed, feeling my face get hot. “You are right. I am sorry. That was too much, too fast.”
The door behind us made a noise and Beck stepped inside, his eyes looking between the two of us. “Is everything okay in here?”
Fern’s voice was weak.
“This is Kai’s dad, Beck.”
Beck looked at both of us, noticing the stress. “Does someone want to explain this to me?”
“I haven’t told you everything,” Fern said. “Kai… he is Ash’s son. I never told Wren either, until today. Even when we met, Beck, you knew I already had a son.”
Beck pressed his lips together and took a very long breath.
“Well, that is a huge secret to keep, Fern.”
He looked at her for a second as if he didn’t recognize her.
Then he looked me right in the eye.
“I need some time to process this, Fern, but we are going to act like adults,” he said.
He took another deep breath before he continued.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what you want, but Kai is my son in every way that counts. This cannot become a fight.”
“I don’t want a fight,” I said. “I just want a chance to be there for him… within reason. In a helpful way, too. Ash would have wanted that. He is my family, too.”
Beck didn’t smile. He just gave one nod.
“If we do this, we go slowly,” Beck stated. “We use a counselor, we set clear rules, and Kai decides the speed. No surprises.”
Right then, Principal Hill spoke up.
“We can help set up the counselor,” Principal Hill said. “We will make sure the rules are written down.”
“We will talk,” Beck said. “We want what is best for the boy.”
I felt a change, not like everything was solved, but like a small chance was opening up between us.
The following Saturday, I walked into Mel’s Diner, holding my purse much tighter than necessary. The restaurant was filled with the smell of coffee and pie.
I saw them sitting in a booth by the window: Fern, Beck, and Kai, who were already eating pancakes.
Kai waved his fork at me, with syrup dripping from his chin. “Ms. Wren! You made it!”
He slid over on the seat without being asked, patting the spot next to him as if it was meant for me.
Fern gave a small, slightly stiff smile and pointed to the seat next to Kai. “We thought you might like to join us, if you aren’t busy.”
“Well, I do love pancakes. Thank you.” I slid into the booth and smoothed out my skirt.
Beck gave a polite nod and passed me the menu.
Kai leaned over to me, whispering like he was sharing a secret.
“Did you know they can put chocolate chips inside the pancakes if you ask them?”
“Is that true?” I smiled, starting to feel comfortable with him. “You seem like an expert on this.”
He giggled and swung his legs under the table.
“Mom says I could survive just on pancakes and coloring books.”
Fern rolled her eyes. “And apparently, chocolate milk. He will be full of energy all afternoon.”
“My son loved chocolate milk,” I said.
“Even when he was 18 years old, Kai, he used to drink a glass of it after dinner every single night.”
Beck smiled and then looked at me. “We come here every Saturday morning. It is our tradition.”
I looked at the other families and couples enjoying their morning.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I actually belonged somewhere again.
Kai took a crayon out of his pocket and started drawing on a napkin. “Can you draw, Ms. Wren?”
“I can. But I am not very good at it.”
He giggled at that.
We put our heads together, drawing a messy-looking dog and a large yellow sun. Fern watched us, her guard slowly dropping bit by bit. After a moment, she pushed her teapot across the table.
“You take sugar, right, Wren?” she asked.
I nodded and stirred in two packets, my hands feeling a bit more steady.
Kai looked up, his eyes looking very bright.
“Are you going to come next Saturday, too?”
I looked at Fern. She gave me a small, brave smile. “If you want to,” she said softly.
“Yes,” I replied, my heart feeling full and hopeful. “I would like that very much.”
For the first time, it felt like the world was allowing something new to start, right there over breakfast and crayons and second chances.