IT WAS A damp, dreary Saturday evening—the type of night that chills every bone. The heavy rain and thunder had stopped, the temperature dipping to a brisk sixty degrees. A young woman in her early twenties stepped out from the darkness. Her hooded raincoat and woolen scarf could not hide that she was extremely attractive. She had long brown hair and a beautiful olive complexion. Her eyes, which were a brilliant green, were swollen and red from crying. The young woman looked up at the house, which was only a few steps away.
Inside the house was the pastor, Father Pat Donnelly—a warm and friendly priest in his early fifties. He’d just poured himself his nightly two fingers of single malt scotch, sat down in his favorite leather chair, and looked forward to continuing the crime novel he’d started a few nights before. He thought to himself that a good book and a glass of scotch in the warm, comfortable rectory were perfect on an unusually cold and damp summer evening.
Meanwhile, outside, the young woman carried two baskets and struggled both physically and emotionally. Sh e carefully placed the baskets by the doorstep and gently lifted the woolen blanket from one, revealing a beautiful baby. She lifted the child, held him closely, and kissed his forehead as tears fell from her eyes. The child looked up and smiled at her. It seemed he was reassuring her that everything would be all right. She put him down, covered him with the blanket, and then turned to the second basket, where there was another baby—a twin. This child stared at her with intense eyes. He almost seemed angry. She held him close and felt his strength as he stiffened in her arms. Her tears continued flowing as she placed him back into the basket. She rang the bell of the rectory and hurried into the bushes, waiting for someone to answer the door.
Father Pat heard the bell. Putting down his book and walking to the door, he wondered who would be out on a night like this one. His journey from his favorite leather chair to the front door of the rectory felt like an eternity for the young woman, and she began to change her mind—but just as she was about to go back for her babies, the door opened, and the priest stepped out.
Father Pat was confused when he did not see anyone at the door. Then he looked down, saw the baskets, and immediately assumed that one of his parishioners had wanted to surprise him with some fresh-baked cookies. Suddenly, he heard the cries of a baby. Puzzled, he bent down and lifted the blanket. He was amazed to see a beautiful infant staring up at him. Then he turned to the second basket and was completely shocked to see another child. He looked around to see who had left the infants at his door.
The young woman held her breath as she watched the priest with her babies. Father Pat carefully picked up each basket and brought them inside the rectory. The woman remained in the bushes for several minutes as she watched the house light up. Tears continued flowing down her cheeks. There was a part of her that wanted to run to the house and take back her sons, but instead, she turned and slowly walked back to her car. At that moment, there was a flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. It pierced her heart as she recalled everything that had happened over the past year.
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