Part 2: Before my husband passed away, he asked me to deliver a sealed letter to a woman I'd never met — after she read the first line, she looked at me and asked, "Did he tell you everything?"

I crossed the room.

"You're Emily."

She shook her head.

I gently took her hands.

"You're the little girl who hated peas. The teenager who sang too loudly in the shower. The woman who calls me every Sunday even when she's busy."

Tears streamed down her face.

"You're my daughter."

She stared at me.

"Even if someone else gave birth to me?"

I nodded.

"Even then."

For a moment, she couldn't move.

Then she fell into my arms.

And we cried together.

***

Two days later, Emily asked to meet Rebecca.

Catherine arranged the visit.

The medical facility stood outside Millbrook, surrounded by tall trees and carefully maintained gardens.

The building was quiet.

Almost painfully quiet.

Rebecca was sitting beside a window when we entered.

She was a beautiful woman in her late forties.

Dark hair.

Soft brown eyes.

A face that looked astonishingly familiar.

I saw Emily in her.

Or perhaps I saw her in Emily.