Ursula gazed at the baby in his pram as he stirred. So small, so fragile. His tiny hand clamped around her finger, and he slowly focused on her.
“Can I hold him?” she asked.
His mother smiled, lifting him out of his pram and gently into Ursula’s arms. He was just ten weeks old—tiny, yet strong. She held him securely, breathing in the scent of baby powder, soft cotton, and pure innocence.
One day, Ursula thought, I will have a baby of my own.
With a final cuddle, she handed him back to his mother, her own heart full of hope.
About This Story
The above story is part of a collection of short fiction pieces that I have collated and published into a paperback book.
