The rain fell in long, heavy sheets over the cracked sidewalks of downtown Louisville on a cold November evening in 2005.
Margaret Doyle, 42, sat in her aging blue minivan outside a bakery that had long since closed. She had just left a support group another long night of listening, confessing, learning to live without the family she’d once dreamed of having.
It had been nearly three years since her last failed attempt at in vitro. Her husband, Michael, had left shortly after that. Too many disappointments. Not enough shared hope.
But tonight, as she drove home alone, something made her stop.
Under the dim halo of a streetlight, she saw a small figure curled up near a dumpster, wrapped in a tattered blanket. He couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11. Rain soaked his shoes and the cuffs of his pants. Margaret slowed the…..Read Full Story Here…………………
