Miriam opened the envelope.
“A laboratory has completed the DNA comparison you both agreed to through the proper process.”
She paused.
“The results establish a biological mother-daughter relationship.”
For several seconds, the world made no sound.
I looked at Vanessa.
She was twenty-eight.
My daughter would have been twenty-eight.
She had been born in March.
She had a silver bracelet with a crooked star.
And she was looking at me with the same desperate hope I felt rising inside my chest.
My daughter was alive.
The child I’d mourned for twenty-eight years was standing in front of me.
I made a sound I didn’t recognize.
Then I crossed the room.
Vanessa stepped toward me.
I put my hands against her cheeks.
She closed her eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered.
Her face crumpled.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I pulled her into my arms.
She held me so tightly that I could barely breathe.
