But the doctors told us our daughter hadn’t survived.
For decades, I had cried over that child.
“Where did you get this photograph?” I whispered.
Susan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because that baby… was me, Margaret.”
I grabbed the wall to keep myself from falling.
“What are you saying?”
Robert stepped closer.
“Six months ago, Susan found me. She’d spent her entire life searching for her biological parents.”
He explained that decades earlier, a terrible mistake had occurred with the hospital’s birth records.
Our daughter had mistakenly been registered for adoption, while we were told about the death of another newborn.
Susan had grown up with another family, never knowing the truth.
Years later, she began investigating her origins.
Six months earlier, a DNA test confirmed that Robert was her biological father.
I stared at him through my tears.
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
