It Was Supposed to Be an Ordinary Baptism — Until Our Baby’s Heart Stopped
On a bright Sunday morning, my husband and I brought our baby to St. Martin’s Church for what we thought would be a simple, joyful baptism. The sunlight poured through the stained glass as we unwrapped him by the ancient marble font. But when Father Callahan reached out to take my son, he froze, staring down with an expression I’ll never forget. In a trembling whisper, he said, “This…this is impossible,” and the air seemed to vanish around us. My heart hammered as he…
I always believed baptisms were simple. A sacred ceremony, a sprinkle of holy water, a few photographs, and maybe brunch afterward. I never expected ours to become something people in our town would whisper about for years.
It was a bright Sunday morning in June, with the kind of clear blue sky that makes you think nothing bad could ever happen. My husband and I dressed our six-month-old son in the softest white christening gown, its little pearl buttons glinting as we buckled him into the car seat. He was smiling, cooing the way babies do when everything feels safe.
When we pulled up to St. Martin’s Church, I felt calm, even excited. I didn’t notice anything strange as we carried him inside, though later, I’d replay every second for any sign I missed. The nave smelled of beeswax and fresh lilies. Sunlight poured through the stained glass, scattering jewel tones across the pews. My mother dabbed her eyes, clutching a silver rosary. Everything seemed perfect.
