An elderly man discovered three abandoned babies on his farm, and as he approached, he was stunned by something unusual…
The sun had just begun to rise over the mountains that surrounded John Peterson’s small homestead. At seventy years old, John had spent a lifetime working the land. His face, etched with deep wrinkles and often accompanied by a reserved smile, spoke of years of wisdom and sacrifice.
That morning, as with most mornings, he set out early with Bella, his loyal dog. She was a mutt with bright eyes who always stayed by his side. The fog still clung to the field when John noticed Bella, usually calm and collected, suddenly begin to bark and agitate, pointing toward a small grove at the edge of the property.
— “What’s wrong, Bella?” — he asked in his gravelly voice, following her. As they moved deeper into the grove, the air grew colder, and Bella ran ahead, stopping near a bush. From there, the faint sound of crying pierced the silence.
John’s heart skipped a beat as he approached, parting the branches carefully. What he saw left him speechless—three babies, wrapped in ragged blankets and lying on a bed of dry leaves.
— “Dear God!” — he whispered, kneeling to check if they were breathing. Two girls and a boy. Their cheeks were flushed from the cold, and their tiny bodies were shivering.
Frozen with shock, John looked around, searching for someone, anyone who might have left them there.
— “Who could do such a thing? What kind of heartless people?!” — he muttered, running trembling hands over his face.
Bella looked at him, as though urging him to take action. With a heavy sigh, John carefully gathered the three babies into his arms, wrapping them in his wool coat… and then he noticed something strange.
Each baby wore a small silver chain, with a tiny charm hanging from it. Although it was too dark to make out the inscriptions, John could see that each charm was different: a moon, a sun, and a star. What struck him even more was how the babies seemed to quiet down the moment he held them close, as though they recognized a connection, or found comfort in being together.
Despite his usual self-assurance, John found himself unsure of what to do. He was alone on his farm. Sure, he had friends in the village, but no one who could step in to care for three tiny infants on short notice.
— “We have to do something, Bella,” — he said softly, trying to steady his voice. Bella nudged him gently, encouraging him to act. The nearest hospital was twenty miles away, and while John’s old truck could make the journey, he feared it wouldn’t be the safest for the fragile babies.
He placed them carefully into a large basket he found in the barn, lining it with blankets and shirts for padding. Then, with Bella by his side, he hurried back to the house. The heating stove was already on, so he placed the babies near it, hoping the warmth would help them recover from the cold. He found some cans of condensed milk and began warming water to make a makeshift formula. John had raised goats and chickens, and even rescued stray dogs, but he had never cared for infants before.
As the milk warmed, John couldn’t stop wondering about the situation. Who would leave three babies here? And why? His farm was isolated, far from any major roads or towns. Whoever had abandoned them must have been desperate.
After feeding each baby with a small spoon, John wrapped them in blankets again. For a moment, he simply watched them, feeling a deep sense of responsibility wash over him. At seventy, he hadn’t expected to find himself in a situation like this. But life, as it often does, had surprised him.
He decided to call Marta, a retired nurse and one of the few people he trusted completely. With trembling hands, he dialed her number.
— “Marta, I need your help. It’s urgent. I found… three babies on my land.” — Marta gasped in disbelief, but quickly shifted into professional mode. She told him to bring them to her if he could, or stay put if the journey was too risky.
