It was nearly midnight when Bob Hollis’s phone lit up with a call from a Florida hospital: a baby girl had arrived—and she was his.
Bob, knee-deep in drywall dust from a home renovation, dropped everything. He and his second wife, Mary, had already adopted three children and were expanding their Texas bungalow to welcome even more kids who needed love.
Years earlier, Bob had vowed to foster as many children as he could. He often told Mary, “If I can help a child grow into the best version of themselves, my life will mean something.”
Bob also had two adult children from his first marriage, but fatherhood still felt new every time.
Then came Mary. They married only months after meeting, but pregnancy proved elusive—until, finally, it didn’t.
With just eight weeks to go, Bob surprised Mary with her dream trip to Florida. Two days in, she went into premature labor and was rushed to the ER.
Mary never made it out of surgery. The hospital urged Bob to come immediately; their daughter needed him.
After landing, Bob rented a car and barreled toward the ICU, where he met 82-year-old volunteer Meredith “Mrs.” Sticks—a recent widow herself.
“What happened?” Bob asked, standing in Meredith’s tiny office.
“Please sit, Mr. Hollis.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “There were complications. Your wife didn’t survive.”
Bob collapsed into tears. Meredith waited, then spoke. “You’re here for your daughter, but I need to know you’re ready.”
“Call anytime,” she added, pressing a card into his shaking hand.
Stopped at the Gate
Four days later, Bob stood at the airport gate cradling his sleeping newborn.
“Is this your child?” the agent asked.
“Yes.”
“She’s too young to fly without a birth certificate—and she must be at least seven days old.”
Panic rose in his chest. He knew no one in Florida—except Meredith.
“Meredith, it’s Bob. I…could really use some help.”
“Of course,” she replied without hesitation.
A Week of Grace
Bob and the baby spent the next eight days in Meredith’s spare bedroom, walls filled with photos of four adult children, seven grandchildren, and three great-grands.
The newborn beamed whenever Meredith sang lullabies in her soft, warbling alto. Bob called her an angel in scrubs.
Homeward and Forward
Birth certificate in hand, Bob finally flew back to Texas—but he never lost touch.
Years later, at Meredith’s funeral, a lawyer handed Bob a letter: she’d left him a portion of her estate.
Bob used every cent to launch a nonprofit—co-founded with Meredith’s children—so more foster dads would never face crisis alone.
He likes to think that somewhere beyond the clouds, the angel who met him in that hospital corridor is still volunteering—just at a higher gate.
