Father Michael finds a strange birthmark on a woman’s neck at her funeral. It’s identical to his. Grief leads to self-discovery. Father Michael desperately needs answers. Will he find them?

The cathedral was hushed, looming with sadness. In black pews, mourners bowed in reverence as towering candles cast shadows on the marble floor.

The community’s generous but reclusive Eleanor left a large fortune and a mystery.

Father Michael inhaled as he neared her casket, feeling the weight of another funeral. Though he had never met Eleanor, her presence had always seemed hauntingly familiar.

As he approached, a peculiar compulsion halted him. He couldn’t explain it.

After pause, he bowed and began praying. But his eyes shifted to her neck, and he froze.

A little, purple blemish popped out on her pale skin below her ear. It resembled a plum and was the same color as his lifelong bag.

“How?” he mumbled. “What does this mean?”

He reached up to touch his neck, feeling a chill. He knew everyone was watching, but he couldn’t resist.

This is impossible, he thought.

His heart raced as he remembered half-forgotten sounds and events from his orphanage years and his hunt for his parents. Long-held longing demanded answers.

Any relation between Eleanor and me? he wondered.

As the organ played its last stanza, the mourners dispersed, and Father Michael approached Eleanor’s children. They gathered near the altar while her daughters chose who would take the flowers.

He was unsure if he was ready to express his request.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said. “But I need to know something.”

“Of course, Father,” youngest son Jason said. “Whatever you need.”

“I was wondering if Eleanor had a child. Yes, another child. In the past. Many years ago?”

Mark, Eleanor’s oldest son, frowned and looked apprehensive of his brothers.

“Father, what are you saying?” he asked. “Do you know something we don’t?”

Did our mother confide in you? Was there a confessional? inquired one daughter.

Father Michael breathed deeply and swallowed his nerves.

He answered, “I don’t know,” glancing at Mark. Your mother didn’t attend confession. I have reason to believe that is true… I would appreciate a DNA test to resolve this issue.

Some members shifted awkwardly as discomfort spread. Mark’s expression was rigid and skeptical.

I admire Father, but this is absurd. Trust me, our mother was honorable. She would have told us if this were true.”

Father Michael moved position.

“I understand that,” he said. Eleanor could have had her child very young, and while she wouldn’t have done anything wrong by accepting adoption, the child still lives.

Father Michael understood he was speaking as a priest but couldn’t stop. He was taught to talk softly and objectively. Still, he didn’t know how to fight for this DNA test.

He nodded and retreated before anything else.

“Wait,” Eleanor’s youngest daughter Anna said. She approached him with a gentle gaze.

You believe that may be true? I’ll test it. Yes, I want answers. Are you the kid?

“I could be,” Father Michael said. “Her neck birthmark. I have it too. At the orphanage, the old woman in charge of the kitchen claimed all she remembered of my mother was her neck birthmark.

Father Michael tossed in bed each day for a week, imagining what it would mean if real. The rectory received an envelope one morning. He tore it open and read the results through shaky hands.

It matched.

Father Michael sat alone in the rectory days later. After the results were released, he visited Eleanor’s family to see if they would listen.

He was accepted by Eleanor’s daughters, his half-sisters, but not by the brothers. A new “big brother” seemed too menacing for them.

He had no idea what to do. He wouldn’t fight for into their lives and family. Not pushing himself in. But knowing where he belonged helped.

The individual with all the answers was no longer available.

“Father Michael?” A soothing voice from an elderly woman brought him back. “I’m Margaret, your mother’s friend. Me and Eleanor were best friends. Anna, her daughter, told me everything at tea with them.”

“How can I help you?”

Her comments hit him hard. Your mother. He gestured for her to enter, scarcely able to talk as they sat across from each other.

Margaret breathed deeply, her eyes watering.

“Father,” she said. Eleanor and I were closer than sisters. She shared secrets with me.”

His heart raced as he leaned forward.

“Please tell me everything. My whole life I wondered where I came from.”

Margaret smiled sadly.

Eleanor was always cautious. Often worried about others’ opinions. But one summer, she met a free-spirited, traveling man. He was really different from us then. She stated he was unlike anyone she’d encountered.

Father Michael closed his eyes and saw his mother as a vibrant, love-swept young woman. He didn’t talk because he was frightened of losing the truth if he interfered.

“She didn’t even tell me at first,” Margaret said. “She was terrified when she discovered she was pregnant. Her family anticipated. Unwed child would have wrecked her. She made up this story and said she was going to the North Pole to study penguins.

Old woman laughed and sighed.

I considered that ludicrous, but she departed. She hid you and sent you to the orphanage.”

Father Michael’s throat clenched when emotions were too intertwined.

“She gave me away to protect her reputation?”

“Oh no, Father,” she said. Survival was more important than reputation. Eleanor cherished you. I knew. She visited the orphanage occasionally.”

“She asked about me?”

“Oh, yes,” Margaret smiled. She kept track as best she could. She couldn’t be with you, but she protected you.”

Father Michael felt pain.

“I thought she left me my whole life. All the while, she watched from afar?

“She remembered you. It shattered her heart, Father. Her silent affection was for you. She had to act because it was either this or your grandfather would have done it.

Even though he never felt it and she never told him, she loved him.

In subsequent weeks, Eleanor’s family cautiously welcomed Father Michael. Anna regularly brought scones or muffins to the rectory and told him about Eleanor and the family.

Anna brought Father Michael a little, worn photo album one afternoon in his office.

I thought you might want this,” she said, handing it to him. “It’s all the Mom photos we have. Maybe they might help you assemble her.”

Father Michael visited Eleanor’s grave the following day.

“I forgive you,” he said. Many thanks for watching over me.