Father O\u2019Brien was already waiting in the confessional. Mary could see his shoes tapping expectantly through the gap under the curtain. But she wasn\u2019t here for the usual forbidden tryst. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBless me, Father,\nfor I have sinned\u2026\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCome into\nthe Vestry, Mary,\u201d Father O\u2019Brien interrupted, breathlessly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFather, listen. I\u2019m with child. Yours, of course.\u201d She dissolved into tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Father\nO\u2019Brien muttered a prayer. \u201cWait there,\u201d he said, finally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His\nfootsteps echoed and faded as he clattered out of the church.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Twenty minutes later, he opened the curtain. Lit from behind, his face formed a forbidding silhouette standing over Mary. He pressed some cash and a hastily scribbled London address into her hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey\u2019ll\ntake care of everything. The baby will go to a good Catholic family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m doing\nthis alone?\u201d Mary\u2019s voice trembled. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can\u2019t,\nMary\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t tarnish your reputation? You\u2019ll forsake me for your precious church!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The saints and apostles looked down in condemnation as she spat in his face and fled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mary walked\nthe streets of Dublin until midnight struck, ringing in 1948. She weaved in and\nout of drunken revelers, who stumbled and clamored as they sang: <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShould auld acquaintance be forgot and never\nbrought to mind?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At home, Mary lit a candle and grieved for the child that she would never see grow up. Then she made a resolution to lock away her maternal love. As she blew out the candle, she extinguished her emotions and the light went out in her heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rebecca\nremained seated until all the other students had left the lecture theatre. Dr\nNick Hargreaves fixed his gaze on her and approached while she packed up. Ordinarily,\nshe would be excited by that look on his face, like a lion stalking its prey.\nBut not today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d gasped Nick ten minutes later, pacing his office and stroking his hair frantically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m\npregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nick\npressed his forehead against the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re keeping it? I can\u2019t do this, Rebecca. I\u2019d lose my wife, my job\u2026 I\u2019ll support you financially, but never mention my name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rebecca\u2019s\nface flushed crimson. \u201cNo, Nick. You don\u2019t get to carry on uninterrupted while\nmy life is turned upside down!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the end\nof term, Dr Hargreaves was checking into a hotel, single and unemployed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Cradling\nher newborn daughter, Rebecca heard fireworks outside as London welcomed 1998.\nHer thoughts turned to Mary, the grandmother she had never met, who had given\nup Rebecca\u2019s father for adoption at birth. Rebecca had always branded her\nheartless. But now, gazing at her own baby, she understood the grief that Mary\nmust have had to bury. She made a resolution to cherish every moment, grateful\nthat single motherhood was a choice available to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll take\na cup o\u2019 kindness yet, for auld lang syne,\u201d sang the crowds outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Meanwhile, in Dublin, Mary was taking her final breath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The candle\nin Rebecca\u2019s room flickered and burned out. A warm glow filled the room,\nbathing Rebecca and her baby in light and love. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Father O\u2019Brien was already waiting in the confessional. Mary could see his shoes tapping expectantly through the gap under the curtain. But she wasn\u2019t here for the usual forbidden tryst. \u201cBless me, Father, for I have sinned\u2026\u201d \u201cCome into the Vestry, Mary,\u201d Father O\u2019Brien interrupted, breathlessly. \u201cFather, listen. I\u2019m with child. Yours, of course.\u201d She […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[121,120],"tags":[20,123,14],"class_list":["post-244","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-121","category-newyearresolutions","tag-his","tag-mary","tag-she"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-3W","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/244","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/9"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=244"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/244\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":363,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/244\/revisions\/363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=244"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=244"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=244"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}