She sat beside me.
“I was Catherine’s best friend.”
I stared at her in astonishment.
“You knew each other?”
“We grew up together. Before you were born, Catherine asked me that if anything ever happened to her, I would make sure you were never left alone.”
My mother began crying.
“When she passed away, you were only a few days old. I visited the hospital every day to help care for you.”
My father took her hand.
“At first, Margaret was simply helping me. Over time, we grew closer. Two years later, we got married.”
I asked through my tears:
“So you’re not my real mother?”
Margaret’s expression changed.
She answered softly:
“I didn’t give birth to you, sweetheart. But I was there holding your hands when you took your first steps. I stayed awake at night when you were sick. And every time you called me ‘Mommy,’ I felt like the happiest woman in the world.”
I threw my arms around her.
“You ARE my mother. And you always will be.”
She began sobbing.
But then my father said:
“Emily, there’s one more thing you need to see.”
He led me behind the bench.
There was a small wooden box attached near the trunk of a tree.
Inside was an old voice recorder.
My father pressed the button.
At first, there was a crackling sound.
Then I heard a gentle woman’s voice.
“Robert, if our little girl ever hears this, I want her to know that I loved her even before I held her for the first time…”
I froze.
It was Catherine’s voice.
The recording continued.
“And if I’m not there beside her, promise me that when she grows up, you’ll bring her to the place where our love began.”
My father was crying.
Then I heard the most unexpected sentence of all.
“And please, kiss her forehead for me. Let her know that my love is in that kiss too.”
I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore.
I turned toward my father.
He stood there silently, holding the little ring.
I walked toward him.
“Dad…”
He looked at me.
