On an early March morning, a truck pulled up in front of the maternity hospital in a small town in rural Ohio. Two guards stepped out and escorted a woman from the vehicle. It was clear she was pregnant and in labor. She struggled to walk, doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach and lower back. “Hurry up!” barked the guards. “Why couldn’t you hold off until we got to the city, you idiot?” The emergency room buzzed with activity when the staff saw their unusual patient.

It wasn’t every day that prisoners were brought to their small-town maternity hospital to give birth. This woman wasn’t even supposed to be here. She’d gone into labor during transport to a women’s correctional facility in Columbus.

Dr. Elizabeth Harper had just begun what she expected to be a quiet shift. All her patients had already delivered, and she was looking forward to a calm cup of coffee. Suddenly, word came from the emergency room.

“They’ve brought in a prisoner! So much for a quiet shift!” The doctor headed downstairs. The laboring woman lay half-reclined on a gurney, softly moaning in pain, with the guards and duty nurse hovering nearby. “Get her prepped for sanitation,” Dr. Harper ordered after a quick examination, nodding to the orderlies.

They lifted the woman onto a stretcher and wheeled her away. The guards started to follow. “And where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Harper asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You can’t enter the maternity ward. We have strict protocols.” “We have our own protocols,” snapped one of the guards. “We have to stay with her.” “Absolutely not!” Elizabeth exclaimed, stepping in front of them.

“I won’t have you scaring the other mothers. This isn’t a prison. These are our rules.”

“In the absence of the chief of staff, I’m in charge. I decide who enters and who doesn’t.” “You don’t understand.”

“She’s a prisoner. We’ve provided all the paperwork.” “I understand perfectly. But first and foremost, she’s a woman giving birth to a child.”

“What if she escapes?” “Are you serious? She’s six centimeters dilated. I guess that means nothing to you.” Dr. Harper shook her head. “I’ve made myself clear.”

“If we can’t stay for the birth, we have to handcuff her,” insisted one of the guards. “Trust me, it’s in your best interest.” Elizabeth didn’t bother asking why it might be in her interest. She sighed heavily.

“Fine, let them cuff her. But have some decency.” When they brought the laboring woman into the delivery room, the guards handcuffed her wrist to the bed.

“Now leave,” Dr. Harper commanded sharply. The men left, saying they’d wait in the emergency room. “You really showed them who’s boss here,” smiled young pediatrician Emily Carter.

“I don’t need their interference here,” Dr. Harper muttered and approached the woman in labor, her tone softening to a gentle warmth. “Now then, my dear, remind me of your name.” “Sophie,” the prisoner moaned. “Sophie,” repeated the doctor.

Her face flickered with emotion, paling momentarily before she composed herself. “Listen to me now, Sophie. Forget everything else in the world.”

“The baby is all that matters right now. His life depends on you. Don’t waste energy yelling.”

“Just follow my instructions.” The mother-to-be nodded obediently. “Woman, prisoner,” the words seemed incompatible with the young woman, barely twenty, who now struggled on the birthing bed, handcuffed.

“How had she ended up in such circumstances? What had she done?” Elizabeth Harper caught herself sympathizing with this young woman. And her child—a difficult path lay ahead for both of them. Brushing off unnecessary thoughts, Elizabeth began her work.

She spoke with clarity and confidence, encouraging the laboring woman, remaining attentive and professional throughout. Her voice instilled trust, helping to manage the pain, to endure it all. Women who delivered at this maternity hospital considered themselves fortunate to be in Dr. Harper’s care.

She was like a mother to them, her expertise and gentle hands having helped many children come into this world. Dr. Harper had been working at this maternity hospital for over twenty years, since she returned from Cleveland to work as a midwife. She didn’t need accolades or awards.

She simply did her job well, earning only glowing reviews. But Elizabeth herself had endured a difficult fate that few knew about. Thirty years ago, after graduating from medical school, Elizabeth got a job at a Cleveland maternity hospital.

Soon she married. Her daughter, Sophie, was born, and Elizabeth was overjoyed. Elizabeth’s husband, Michael, was building a successful business at the time.

Though it was a challenging period, he was thriving. The family lived comfortably, wanting for nothing. But money, as they say, can change people.

Soon, the once caring and attentive Michael changed beyond recognition. He became harsh with Elizabeth, raised his hand against her, and often didn’t come home at night. One day, Elizabeth saw him embracing a striking brunette.

They were strolling through downtown Cleveland, kissing. Even when he noticed Elizabeth, Michael showed no shame, merely smirking as he said, “What are you staring at? Go home, take care of our daughter.” Elizabeth couldn’t muster the strength to make a scene there on the street, her body frozen with hurt, tears flooding her eyes.

At home, she tried to talk things through, but Michael just beat her. Afterward, Elizabeth wanted to flee to her mother in rural Ohio, but her husband threatened to take her daughter away. He spoke with such conviction that Elizabeth didn’t dare test his threats.

For several more years, she endured his abuse. When Sophie was five, Michael announced he wanted a divorce. He had met an attractive, wealthy woman whose father was either a banker or a real estate mogul.

“And you, small-town nobody, get lost,” he laughed in Elizabeth’s face. Swallowing the insult, Elizabeth initially felt relieved at this outcome, but as it turned out, prematurely.

In court, Michael gained custody of their daughter. His lawyers fabricated a story painting Elizabeth as an unfit mother. The court stripped her of parental rights.

The devastated mother tried for years to prove it was all lies orchestrated by her husband, but no one would listen. The story centered on an incident that had occurred a few months before the divorce. While walking in a park, Sophie had run toward some bushes as her mother tied her shoelace.

Suddenly, her daughter screamed. Elizabeth rushed over. Sophie had caught her foot on a piece of wire protruding from the bushes.

The metal had cut into her skin. Elizabeth immediately took her daughter by taxi to an urgent care center where they stitched the wound. Though the injury wasn’t serious, it left an arrow-shaped scar on her foot.

The lawyers blew this story out of proportion, inventing several other instances of supposed neglect. They even produced witnesses. Elizabeth needed competent legal defense, but she was caught off guard, not expecting such malice from her husband.

Michael took their daughter and vanished. Mutual acquaintances suggested it was pointless to search for Sophie. Michael had married that woman and moved to Europe with her and the child.

Despite Elizabeth’s efforts, she could learn nothing more of Sophie’s fate. She had no choice but to return to her mother in rural Ohio. There, she found work at the maternity hospital, where, for years, she helped other women become mothers, though she lost that joy forever herself.

Elizabeth never remarried, rejecting all suitors. After her mother’s death, she lived alone, giving all her care and love to her patients. She treated every woman equally, whether rich or poor, a CEO or a factory worker.

All were vulnerable in their pain. All needed help. And they received it, just like this young prisoner.

When Elizabeth heard her name, memories of her daughter surfaced again. But why memories? She never forgot her for a moment. Now, her daughter would be the same age as this young woman in trouble.

Where was her little one, her own flesh and blood? Perhaps she had become a mother too? Dr. Harper shook her head, pushing away the anxious thoughts and focused on her work. “Sophie, this isn’t the way to do it,” she said sternly, continuing to give commands. “Breathe, breathe correctly.”

“Put your foot like this.” As she adjusted the woman’s foot, she saw something familiar. There was an arrow-shaped scar on the patient’s foot.

Though faint, Elizabeth needed only a fleeting glance to recognize the scar she could never mistake for another. It was the one she had kissed when her daughter’s wound had healed. She even dreamed of it.

“Sophie,” Elizabeth whispered in shock, frozen in place. “Yes,” moaned the woman in labor. “Is something wrong?” “No, no, everything is going well.”

“You’re doing great.” Elizabeth snapped back to reality, noticing the surprised looks of the nurse and pediatrician. Nothing was certain yet.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Soon, Sophie gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Elizabeth placed the tiny infant on her mother’s chest and watched their first meeting with joy.

“Daughter, my darling,” Sophie whispered, kissing the tiny fingers. “I will not abandon you. I will not give you to anyone, my darling.”

The young mother cried so sincerely, so bitterly, that all the women in the delivery room couldn’t help but tear up. It was an unenviable fate for the newborn and her mother. Even if they were allowed to stay together for a while, they would still be separated.

After all the procedures, mother and baby were taken to the ward. The guards, now permitted to enter and remove the handcuffs, intended to take Sophie straight back to the prison and let child services deal with the child. Sophie, sobbing, listened to this on the gurney, but no one paid attention to her distress.

“The bosses ordered it.” “How is she?” one of the guards asked Elizabeth dismissively. “The patient is fragile, and I won’t discharge her until morning at the earliest,” she replied, barely restraining herself from yelling at the rude guard.

“But we have a hospital in the prison. She can recover there.” “What if her condition worsens during transport? No, I’m not letting her go anywhere.”

There was nothing to be done. The guards yielded to the doctor’s words but warned that their colleagues would come to guard the ward that day. Elizabeth was forced to agree.

She was tired of arguing. But where could a woman run after childbirth? She couldn’t even stand yet. Yet Elizabeth also had a superior and the law.

In the evening, Elizabeth went into the resident’s lounge and sank tiredly into an armchair. All her thoughts were about the woman she had delivered today. Sophie—could she really be her daughter? But why was she in prison? What had she done? Where was her wealthy father? Or perhaps that scar was just a vision.

She needed to check Sophie’s foot again. Elizabeth reviewed the patient’s chart. Type O positive blood.

Same as herself. And the face. Now it seemed to Elizabeth that Sophie looked just like her late mother.

After all, her daughter had inherited her grandmother’s blue eyes and chestnut hair. Could it be true? Elizabeth left the resident’s lounge and headed for Sophie’s room. There were no guards yet, and the midwife quietly opened the door.

The young mother was asleep. Elizabeth cautiously approached, lifted the blanket, and looked at the foot. Yes, that very scar.

Sophie opened her eyes. “What happened? Something wrong with my girl?” She tried to lift herself but winced in pain. “Hush, hush, sweetheart,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Everything’s fine with your baby. I just came to check on you.” “Everything hurts,” Sophie said pitifully.

“That’s normal. It happens. Everything will pass.”

“The pain will subside, and there will be only joy that you now have a daughter,” answered Elizabeth. She spoke quietly, calmly, though her lips trembled and her hands were shaking.

She clasped them together and sat down on the chair beside her. “Sophie, tell me, what happened to you? Why did you end up in prison? Maybe I can help. Or is there someone you need to inform?” “I have no one,” Sophie answered softly.

“And why I ended up there? Nobody believed me. And why would you? Tell me, will they really take my daughter away from me? Didn’t they say we’d be together until she was three?” Saying this, Sophie, overcoming the pain, raised herself on her elbow. Biting her already chapped lips, she stared unblinkingly at the doctor.

Elizabeth didn’t know how to answer. In this case, everything was out of her hands. “I’ll try to find out everything,” she reassured.

“And you tell me about yourself. I can see that you’re not a criminal. You’re just in trouble.”

“That’s right,” Sophie cried. “And I don’t know what to do. How to live on?” And the young woman told her story.

Elizabeth learned that as a child, Sophie lived in Europe with her father and his wife. She barely remembered her mother. Her father said she had died.

Her stepmother constantly belittled her. In Europe, her father’s business began to collapse, forcing them to return to the U.S. But even here, things went poorly.

A few years later, her father and stepmother died in a car accident, and the bank seized all their property for debts. At fifteen, Sophie ended up in a foster home. The three years before she aged out were a nightmare.

Her peers disliked her, considering her an outsider. She endured constant bullying and harassment, with no friends to turn to. Finishing high school became her salvation.

The young woman thought all the hardships in her life were over, but everything was just beginning. Sophie had a talent for art and dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. She enrolled in a community college in Cincinnati, and thankfully, the state provided her, as a foster youth, with a small apartment—her sanctuary of comfort and peace.

After classes, she would come home and dream. Sophie envisioned becoming a designer with her own boutique. She would meet her prince, build a strong family, and have at least three children.

Sophie longed for a large family, certain she would be a wonderful mother. She would be the most loving, the most tender, just like her own mother, whom she barely remembered. Only in dreams did she glimpse her mother’s hazy image and hear her forgotten voice, so warm and soft.

Her father never spoke about her, and no photographs survived. He claimed the photo album was lost during the move, and digital versions were corrupted by a virus. “Her name was Elizabeth, like yours,” Sophie told the doctor, sharing her memories.

She didn’t notice how Elizabeth turned pale and clasped her hands tighter as she continued her story. After graduating from college, she found work at a textile factory. She excelled at everything, earning praise from her supervisor.

A promotion seemed possible, and she even considered further education, but fate took a sharp turn. Sophie met Ethan, a charming young man with an expensive car who showered her with gifts and flowers. Sophie’s heart melted.

Her dreams seemed within reach, and she imagined their wedding. Ethan had influential parents—his father a sheriff, his mother a city council member. The foster girl believed they would accept her, even though she had no money.

After all, Ethan loved her. She waited for him to introduce her to his parents, but he kept delaying, citing his busy work schedule. Sophie could never understand his work—vague trips, meetings, deals.

Ethan just laughed, saying it wasn’t time for her to know everything yet. Then the police raided her small apartment and found illegal drugs. Sophie was stunned.

Where had they come from? The truth about Ethan’s real activities began to dawn on her. He had been using her apartment to store his drugs. He escaped consequences.

His influential relatives protected him. They made it appear as though Sophie was involved in possessing and distributing drugs. No one believed her protests of innocence.

They pressured her to reveal her accomplices, promising a reduced sentence for cooperation. But Sophie truly knew nothing. Ethan pretended complete innocence, even testifying against her.

Sophie couldn’t believe her beloved would betray her like this. She had trusted him completely, yet he had used and ruined her without hesitation or remorse. Her court-appointed lawyer made no effort to defend her, and the judge sentenced her to five years in a medium-security prison.

Once in prison, Sophie lost her will to live. Deceived, humiliated, slandered. Why had they done this to her? There were so many questions, but no answers.

If it hadn’t been for the support of one fellow inmate at the very beginning, who knows how it would have ended. Rachel was serving time for shoplifting and had a young son living with his grandmother. Despite her circumstances, Rachel remained optimistic and kept telling Sophie that she had to live, to survive despite all her enemies.

“When you get out, then you’ll settle scores,” she said. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Sophie only nodded weakly in response.

Revenge? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to. And she couldn’t bear being locked up for so many years.

Then came the unexpected news. Sophie was pregnant. The prison doctor discovered it during her next medical examination and immediately asked if she planned to keep the child.

“I do,” Sophie answered firmly. A ray of hope flickered in her fate. She was no longer alone in this vast world of lies and deceit.

Against all odds, she would endure to raise her baby. Rachel supported her friend’s decision. There was a possibility of early release.

Sophie could live with the baby for up to three years, though in a different facility. They would have to part ways, but it was manageable. Plans were made to transfer Sophie to another prison, but the paperwork kept getting delayed.

They delayed until her fortieth week, and on the bumpy road to the new prison, Sophie went into labor. Thankfully, they encountered this maternity hospital on the way. “You are my savior, Dr. Harper,” Sophie whispered, finishing her story.

“Thank you. I’m just afraid now. Will they really send me back to the old prison? What about my daughter? They promised not to separate us.”

“What should I do?” “Sophie, I’ll try to help you,” Elizabeth said, her voice trembling. “Poor girl, you’ve been through so much. Don’t worry too much.”

“Everything will improve. Now get some rest.” She ran a trembling hand through Sophie’s hair, then stood up abruptly and left before the young woman could see her tears.

Oh, God, how Elizabeth wanted to embrace this girl. Hold her close, shield her from the world. Yes, this was her daughter.

Now she knew it for sure. But it was too soon to tell Sophie. Her girl had already endured so many trials, with more surely to come.

The news of a mother reappearing might be misinterpreted. What if she thought Elizabeth had abandoned her? That confession wasn’t the priority right now. The crucial task was finding a way to help Sophie.

Yes, she was innocent. Elizabeth was certain of that. But mere words wouldn’t help.

Then Elizabeth remembered, about a year ago, the wife of a prominent Washington, D.C., lawyer had given birth in their maternity hospital. They’d been visiting relatives in Ohio when his wife went into labor in her eighth month. The lawyer had been distraught, blaming himself for bringing his pregnant wife to such a remote location.

But Elizabeth had managed to turn the baby herself. And it was born perfectly healthy. The infant needed to stay in the hospital with its mother for a while, but all turned out well.

The lawyer had expressed profound gratitude to Elizabeth, saying he was in her debt, and gave her his business card just in case. She had smiled but kept the card. Now, Elizabeth was frantically searching for that business card.

Fortunately, she found it at the bottom of her purse. “Mr. Sullivan, hello!” Elizabeth began the conversation excitedly. The lawyer immediately recognized her and expressed joy.

After briefly discussing his son and wife, they turned to the matter at hand. Elizabeth explained Sophie’s situation. “Yes, the case is difficult,” the lawyer agreed.

“But I don’t understand why you care so much about this girl. I know you have a good heart, but perhaps things aren’t exactly as she told you.” “This girl, as you put it, is my daughter,” said Elizabeth, swallowing a lump in her throat.

She revealed everything—about the scar, her husband, the blood type, all of it. “You’re certain?” the lawyer asked. “More than certain.”

“Then I’ll take the case,” he replied firmly. “Mr. Sullivan, I’ll pay whatever you ask.” “Dr. Harper, please, you saved my child, and I will save yours.”

“I won’t accept any payment. Here’s what we’ll do. Tomorrow morning, I’ll visit the district attorney’s office and begin working on this.”

“Stay calm. Even if Sophie leaves your hospital tomorrow, she won’t remain in prison for long. Your task is to negotiate with child services to prevent the baby from being sent to foster care right away.”

“By law, we can keep a child in our hospital for a medical examination for a month.” “That’s wonderful.” This conversation gave Elizabeth hope that everything would work out.

Even the guards stationed outside Sophie’s room since night didn’t worry her. Mr. Sullivan would handle everything. The next morning, Sophie was transferred to the prison hospital.

In the corridor, Elizabeth managed to whisper that a lawyer from Washington, D.C., had taken her case. “Be patient. Your ordeal will soon be over.”

She squeezed the girl’s hand. “Get away from the prisoner,” the guard barked.

Elizabeth stepped back without argument, offering Sophie only a smile. “Dr. Harper, will you look after Emma?” Sophie called out desperately. “Emma?” Elizabeth paled.

“I named my daughter that.” “Of course I will,” she replied. Later, she gazed at the door behind which Sophie had disappeared under escort.

Emma. That was Elizabeth’s mother’s name. Why had Sophie chosen that name? She couldn’t possibly have remembered her grandmother’s name.

Blood memory? Elizabeth could find no other explanation. Elizabeth went to the nursery where little Emma lay. The baby was awake, her blue eyes taking in the world, unaware of the struggle surrounding her and her mother.

“My little girl, my granddaughter,” Elizabeth whispered. “Grow up, gain strength. I’ll pray that everything works out.”

She touched the baby’s soft cheek, feeling a sweet warmth spread through her. Leaving the nursery, Elizabeth contemplated whom to contact about Emma’s guardianship. She encountered the department head, recently returned from a conference.

“Quite a day yesterday, Dr. Harper,” he smiled and continued. “First time we’ve had a prisoner give birth here.”

“Good that she’s been moved. I’ll arrange to have the baby transferred soon. There could be complications.”

“Please don’t rush with the child.” Elizabeth met his eyes firmly. “Dr. Wilson, if possible, I’d like to take the child myself.”

“Elizabeth, what are you thinking?” the department head exclaimed. “This isn’t a puppy. It’s a baby requiring constant care.”

“How will you manage? What about work? I understand maternal instinct, but why take this on? You’re not young anymore. And when the convict is released, what then?” “Dr. Wilson, so many questions,” Elizabeth smiled.

“I’ve made my decision. If they grant me custody, I’ll take maternity leave.” “Elizabeth, I won’t allow it.”

“Kenneth, enough!” Elizabeth waved him off and walked away. She wasn’t going to explain anything to the head doctor, who had asked her out more than once while he was married. No, he wasn’t cruel or vindictive.

Just now, all explanations were unnecessary. Elizabeth was headed to the child services office, where the chief specialist was a woman she had helped in labor. Elizabeth hoped to persuade her to grant temporary custody of Emma.

It wasn’t easy, but Elizabeth succeeded. Within a week, they gave her the little girl. As promised, she took a leave of absence.

Her colleagues were shocked. No one understood why she, an excellent specialist devoted to her work, suddenly gave up everything to care for a convict’s child. Several months passed.

Elizabeth cared for Emma, and the baby grew healthy, resembling her mother more each day. Her eyes turned blue, and chestnut curls formed atop her head. Grandmother admired her little granddaughter.

Yes, she was certain Sophie was her daughter. No DNA tests were needed. Emma was an exact copy of little Sophie, just as Elizabeth remembered her.

Throughout this time, she wrote to her daughter, describing Emma’s development and their daily life, but she never hinted about who Sophie truly was. The time wasn’t right. Sophie’s case underwent review.

The investigation was difficult and lengthy. After three months, the lawyer gathered all the evidence proving Ethan was guilty of the crime for which Sophie was serving time. Ethan was arrested, and Sophie was finally acquitted and released from prison.

It was early summer. She stepped outside the prison gates and breathed in the fresh air. “God, freedom!” Soon she would see her daughter, fall at Dr. Harper’s feet, and thank her for everything.

The lawyer had told her who hired him. Sophie couldn’t believe it. How could a stranger stand up for her just like that? On the bus riding down the country road, Sophie’s thoughts raced.

Yes, Dr. Harper helped her, but what next? She needed to restore her parental rights. But would child services return her child? She had a place to live, but no job. How would she work? What would she live on? Public assistance? But that still needed to be arranged.

And what if Dr. Harper didn’t want to give up Emma? Doubts and questions tormented the young mother. Finally, the familiar town appeared where she had given birth last spring. She knew Dr. Harper’s address from the letters.

After asking passersby for directions, she walked on. There stood the house, nestled among maple trees. Her daughter lived here now.

Sophie timidly opened the gate, walked along the path to the house, and suddenly heard Elizabeth’s voice from the porch. “My golden granddaughter, let’s go for a walk, get some fresh air, listen to the birds singing.” Elizabeth rolled the stroller onto the porch and, seeing her visitor, gasped.

“Sophie, you’re here. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been released today? I would have arranged a ride.” “I didn’t want to trouble you with such things,” Sophie answered tensely.

“Here I am. You won’t send me away?” “Never. My girl, come in, come in.”

“May I?” Sophie stepped toward the stroller. “Of course,” smiled Elizabeth. “Emma, your mother has arrived.”

Sophie leaned over the stroller and saw her girl for the first time after their long separation. She wanted so much to take her baby in her arms, to hold her to her heart, to kiss her fiercely, but Sophie hesitantly touched the girl’s hand, and then suddenly cried. “Sophie, what are you doing?” Elizabeth asked in surprise.

“I’m afraid to hold her. I’m tainted from prison, dirty, and I can’t wash it off. I can’t forget it,” whispered Sophie.

“My girl,” exclaimed Elizabeth, wrapping Sophie in her arms. “You are the purest in the world. Everything will be forgotten.”

“Believe me. The main thing is that you are together now.” They stood, embraced.

Sophie cried and thanked Elizabeth for her help, for the lawyer, for everything. The woman only held her tighter. The little girl watched them seriously from the stroller.

Finally, coming to their senses, they went into the house. There was no time for walks now. After a shower, Sophie held her baby close.

Emma, as if sensing her mother, smiled and cooed. Elizabeth watched them both adoringly. Mother and daughter together.

This was happiness. Yet the most serious conversation still lay ahead. Sophie hesitated for a long time before finally asking when Elizabeth could give her Emma.

“I’ll have to go to child services, go to Cincinnati, solve all the issues there,” she explained. “I need to register at the clinic, apply for assistance, settle the utility bills. Perhaps Emma could stay with you for a while.”

“Would you mind?” “Why do you have to go anywhere?” Elizabeth said. “Stay here.” “No, it’s not right.”

“I can’t take advantage of your kindness forever. I know you’re used to Emma. I even heard you call her granddaughter, but.”

“And she is my granddaughter,” Elizabeth said softly. “I don’t understand.”

“Sophie, you’re my daughter.” And Elizabeth began her story. Sophie listened, confused, blinking and shaking her head.

“You’re my mother? But why? Why is it like this? My father said you were dead. You abandoned me, didn’t you?” Sophie cried out.

“And you kept silent all this time.” “That’s why I kept silent. Because I knew this would be your first reaction,” Elizabeth said, her voice trembling.

“But I didn’t leave you. Your father deceived everyone. He separated us.”

“You didn’t even look for me.” “They told me you were abroad. I was sure you were doing well.”

“Then suddenly I saw you in the hospital, recognized you by your scar. Daughter, I didn’t betray you.” Sophie looked at Elizabeth with tear-filled eyes, then placed Emma in the crib and threw herself into her mother’s arms.

“My mommy, my dear, and I thought you would only be with me in dreams forever.” “Both in dreams and in reality, I will always be with you,” Elizabeth whispered, breathing in the scent of her daughter’s hair.

“With you and my granddaughter. I’m sorry you lived without me for so many years, suffered so much. We’ll fix everything. We’ll start again.”

“You’ll be happy for sure. We’ll be happy.” Sophie pulled away from her mother’s shoulder and looked into her eyes.

They both laughed through their tears, and from the crib, smiling toothlessly at them, lay their happiness—a daughter and a granddaughter. Now three dear hearts would beat side by side.