Chapter 2: A thirty-year-old man began regularly visiting my elderly neighbor. But one day, when I stepped inside her home, I discovered something terrifying.

Then lowered her voice.

“Your mother was adopted, wasn't she?”

I frowned.

“Yes. Her parents told her when she was young.”

Mrs. Wilson nodded.

Tears filled her eyes.

“Did she ever tell you where she was born?”

I thought for a moment.

“Somewhere in Ohio. I don't remember the hospital.”

Mrs. Wilson took a shaky breath.

Then she touched the baby's identification card in the photograph.

“Your mother was born in June 1963.”

My heart began pounding.

The photograph had been taken in June 1963.

Mrs. Wilson looked directly into my eyes.

And whispered:

“Emma, I believe the little girl I lost may have grown up to become your mother.”

I stared at her.

For a moment, the room seemed to disappear.

Outside, birds were singing in the garden.

The refrigerator hummed softly.

Mom was washing a cup in the kitchen.

And I was looking at the woman who had helped raise me my entire life.