Then an elderly woman named Eleanor arrived and revealed that her daughter Anna had died giving birth to Lucy only hours earlier. Anna’s final wish was for her baby to be brought to me. Twenty-two years earlier, I had been told my own newborn daughter had died during childbirth, and I had spent decades mourning a child I believed I would never see again.
The truth was devastating: Anna had actually survived and had been raised elsewhere after records surrounding her birth were secretly altered. Years later, she discovered that Michael and I were her biological parents and tried to find us. She eventually reached Michael while pregnant with Lucy, but tragically died before she could finally meet me herself.
The DNA results were clarified—I wasn’t Lucy’s mother, but her grandmother. After saying goodbye to Anna, I brought Lucy home wrapped in the pink blanket I had saved for more than two decades. My daughter had been taken from me, but through Lucy, she made sure the truth finally came home: neither she nor her baby had ever been unwanted.
