Father Michael was conducting the funeral service of a woman when he noticed a peculiar birthmark on her neck—identical to his own. What followed was a journey of self-discovery through the process of grief. Will Father Michael uncover the answers he so desperately seeks?
The church was silent, enveloped in the heavy air of loss. Shadows cast by massive candles flickered on the marble floor as mourners, dressed in black, filled the pews, their heads bowed in respect.
Elizabeth, known throughout the community as a generous but reserved woman, had left behind not only a considerable fortune but also a lasting mystery.
Father Michael took a deep breath, the weight of yet another funeral pressing on him as he approached her casket. He had never met Elizabeth personally, but there was something eerily familiar about her presence, almost unsettling.
As he drew closer, an inexplicable compulsion stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t explain it.
He paused, then leaned forward to begin the prayer. But as he did, his gaze fell upon her neck, and he froze.
Just behind her ear, a small, purplish mole stood out against her pale skin. It was nearly plum-shaped, identical in shape and color to the one he had carried all his life.
“How?” he murmured. “What does this mean?”
A cold shiver ran through his body, and his hand instinctively reached for his own neck. He was acutely aware that everyone was watching him, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“This is impossible,” he thought.
His heart pounded in his chest as memories flooded his mind—sounds and scenes from his years in the orphanage, and his long, fruitless search for any record of his parents. The yearning he had carried for so long awakened within him, demanding answers.
“Could there be a connection between Elizabeth and me?” he wondered.
After the service, as the mourners began to disperse, Father Michael approached Elizabeth’s children. They were gathered near the altar, her daughters deciding who would take the bouquets of flowers.
His question lingered on his lips like a prayer he wasn’t sure he was ready to voice.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said. “But… I need to ask something.”
“Of course, Father,” said John, the youngest son. “Whatever you need.”
“I just want to know if there’s any chance Elizabeth… had another child. A child from many years ago?”
Elizabeth’s eldest son, Marcus, frowned deeply and exchanged a suspicious glance with his siblings.
“I’m sorry, Father, but what do you mean?” Marcus asked. “Do you know something we don’t?”
“Did our mother tell you something in confidence? Was this part of a confession?” one of the daughters asked.
Father Michael took a deep breath and swallowed his emotions.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking at Marcus. “And no, your mother didn’t come to confession. But I have reason to believe it might be true… If… if I could request a DNA test, just to put my mind at ease, I would be grateful.”
A wave of discomfort spread through the group, some shifting uneasily. Marcus’s frown deepened, skepticism evident on his face.
“With all due respect, Father, this sounds absurd. Believe me, our mother was a woman of integrity. She would have told us if something like this were true.”
Father Michael shifted uncomfortably.
“I understand,” he said. “But Elizabeth may have had the child when she was very young, and even though she wouldn’t have done anything wrong by putting the child up for adoption, the child still exists.”
Father Michael knew he sounded like a priest, but he couldn’t suppress the instinct to seek the truth. He had been taught to speak gently and objectively. And even now, he didn’t know how to fight for the DNA test.
Instead of pressing further, he nodded and began to step away before things grew more complicated.
“Wait,” said Anna, Elizabeth’s youngest daughter. She stepped forward, her gaze soft as she studied him.
“If you believe this might be true, then I’ll take the test. I’d like answers too. Are you saying you might be the child?”
“I might be,” Father Michael replied. “It’s the mole on her neck. I have the same one. And when I was in the orphanage, the old cook who worked there used to say the only thing she remembered about my mother was the birthmark on her neck.”
A long week passed, during which Father Michael woke up in the middle of the night every day, his mind racing with possibilities about what it would mean if this were true. Then, one morning, a letter arrived at the rectory. He tore open the envelope, his hands trembling as he read the results.
It was a match.
In the days that followed, Father Michael visited Elizabeth’s family, hoping they would now be willing to listen, with concrete evidence in hand. Elizabeth’s daughters—his half-sisters—were open to welcoming him, but her sons wanted nothing to do with him. The idea of having an “older brother” seemed too threatening for them.
Father Michael didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want to fight his way into their lives or their family. He didn’t want to impose. But at least now, he knew where he came from.
Yet… the person with all the answers was no longer there.
“Father Michael?” A gentle, elderly woman’s voice pulled him back to reality. “I’m Margaret, a friend of your mother’s. I was Elizabeth’s closest friend. Her daughter, Anna, told me everything over tea.”
“How can I help you?” he asked.
Her words struck him like a blow. “Your mother.” He gestured for her to come in, barely able to speak as they sat across from each other.
Margaret took a deep breath, her eyes misting over.
“Father,” she said, “Elizabeth and I were closer than sisters. She told me things no one else knew.”
He leaned forward, his heart pounding.
“Please, I need to know everything. I’ve spent my whole life wondering where I came from.”
Margaret gave him a sad smile.
“She was always so careful, our Elizabeth. Always afraid of what people might think. But one summer, she met a man—a traveler, a free spirit. He was unlike anyone she’d ever met.”
Father Michael closed his eyes, imagining his mother as a vibrant young woman caught up in the thrill of love. He didn’t speak, afraid that if he interrupted, the truth might slip away.
“She didn’t 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 a story, telling everyone she was going on an expedition to study penguins in the Arctic—something ridiculous.”
The old woman chuckled softly before sighing.
“I thought it was absurd, but she left. She gave birth to you in secret and arranged for you to be taken to the orphanage.”
Father Michael’s throat tightened, his emotions too tangled to untangle.
“She gave me away to protect her reputation?” he asked.
“Oh no, Father,” Margaret replied. “It wasn’t about reputation. It was about survival. Elizabeth loved you. I know that. She checked on you from time to time, visiting the orphanage.”
“She asked about me?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” Margaret said, smiling. “She kept tabs on you as best she could. She couldn’t be in your life, but she made sure you were safe.”
Father Michael’s heart broke.
“I spent my life thinking she abandoned me. And all this time… she… she was watching from afar?”
“She never forgot you. It hurt her, Father. She loved you in a quiet way. She had to do it, or… who knows what her father would have done.”
She loved you, even if you never felt it, even if she never told you.
In the weeks that followed, Elizabeth’s family decided to cautiously welcome Father Michael. Anna became a constant presence at the rectory, often bringing cookies or muffins and always ready to share stories about Elizabeth.
One afternoon, Anna brought him an old, worn photo album.
“I thought you might like this,” she said, placing it in his hands. “These are all the pictures we have of Mom. Maybe they’ll help you understand her better.”
The next day, Father Michael stood at Elizabeth’s grave.
“I forgive you,” he said. “And thank you for watching over me.”
