“Did she live?”
Martin reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a photograph.
In the photo was a young woman. About twenty-six years old. Dark hair. My eyes.
My smile.
My face.
But on her wrist was the same bracelet.
Discover more
Track Pregnancy
Find Metal Stocks
Choose Jackets
I held my breath.
“Her name is Olivia,” Martin said. “She lives two hours away from the city. She found me a month ago. Before her adoptive mother died, she told her the truth.”
I took the photo with trembling fingers.
I looked at her, and it felt as if I was looking at the life that had been stolen from me.
“Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
Martin swallowed his tears.
“I was afraid. I wanted to see her first. To understand whether she hated us, whether she wanted to meet you. She asked for only one thing.”
