The Hathaway mansion was like something out of a fancy magazine: huge gates, marble floors, and chandeliers that cost more than most people's homes. But tonight? It wasn't about the fancy feel. The place was full of energy and chaos.
"Hot water! Bring more hot water!" a maid yelled, nearly running down the hall with a jug in her hand.
Another servant hastened past, bearing an unusually high stack of towels. "Do we really need this many towels?" she muttered.
It was pretty intense upstairs. Mrs. Hathaway lay in a big bed, one that would be hard to imagine, holding onto the sheets tight. Sweat pasted her hair to her forehead as she screamed like it was a scary movie. The doctor stood beside her, trying to keep calm, but his forehead was shinier than the floors of this big house.
"You're doing great, Mrs. Hathaway. One more push!" he said, though his face reflected that he really hoped she wouldn't pass out.
"That's easy for you to say!" Mrs. Hathaway yelled, her voice cracking. "You're not the one—AAAAH!"
Outside, Mr. Hathaway paced up and down. He was a tall man in a neat suit; his tie was straight, but he was very anxious. He looked at his watch for the third time in five minutes. His jaw tightened, and he whispered to himself, "It better be a boy. It has to be a boy."
Finally, the cry of a newborn baby cut through the tension. The sound carried down the hall, and for a moment, everything went silent.
The doctor came out with a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. "Congratulations," he beamed. "It's a girl."
Mr. Hathaway's face froze. "A girl?" he repeated, as though the doctor had just cursed his entire lineage.
In the room, Mrs. Hathaway did not mind much about how he felt. Tired, she smiled warmly as she first held the baby. "Lily," she cooed, with love in her voice. "Her name is Lily Hathaway."
Mr. Hathaway attempted a smile, but it was feeble. He looked at the baby only for a second before he turned and left. "A girl," he said again, his back to them as he walked down the hall.
At the same time, far from the mansion, the night was still. The river sparkled in the moonlight, and the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves. But then, there was a quiet cry.
An elderly couple was on their way home, having spent most of the day at the market. They were very poor but at least had each other, and a lantern to light their way, kind of.
"Wait," she said suddenly.
"What now?" he growled, hefting the sack of vegetables onto his shoulder.
"Do you hear that?" she said in her soft voice.
He frowned and listened. "It sounds like crying?"
They ran toward the sound now coming from the riverbank. There, nestled among the reeds, was a little basket. The woman gasped and dropped to her knees.
"It's a baby!" she whispered, her hands shaking as she lifted the blanket.
The man knelt down beside her, and his face softened at the sight of the tiny baby girl. She was no longer crying. Her dark eyes gazed at them with curiosity and innocence.
There was a piece of paper tucked into the folds of the blanket. She picked it up, bringing the messy scribbles close to her eyes. "Her name is Zoey," she read out loud. "Please take care of her."
Man," he sighed. "Who leaves a baby out here? It's not right."
"We can't leave her," the woman said, her voice firm.
"We can hardly feed ourselves," he said, but his voice didn't sound convincing.
The woman held the baby close to her chest. "She's ours now. No one else will take her." And that was it. They brought Zoey home to their small, old house at the edge of the village. It wasn't a lot, but it was warm and it was safe. Lily lay upon the crib at the mansion; it was so fancy, it could belong to a princess. The curtains were of silk, while the pillows were very soft, and the whole room smelled just like lavender. She was wrapped in a quilt pieced from divers patterns, and Zoey, the comfortable child, slept soundly on his straw pallet. The old couple were beside her, hand in hand, praying silently, looking at her with benedictions that she should enjoy life well. Two girls born the same night under the same moon—each lived in a world so different. One girl had a life full of wealth and high hopes, and the other a simple life filled with love. What they didn't know, what nobody knew, was that their lives were already connected, like threads in a story waiting to be told.