Her answer nearly knocked me to the ground.
We sat on a bench, the boys playing together as if they had known each other all their lives. Clara’s hands shook as she spoke.
“They told me my baby died,” she said. “But then… a nurse came to me. She said there had been a mistake. That one of the babies wasn’t mine. That he belonged to another mother. She begged me not to ask questions. I was too weak, too scared. And when they placed him in my arms, I couldn’t let go.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I raised him as my own. His name is Daniel.”
My stomach twisted. “But they told me my second son was dead.”
Clara shook her head. “No, Lana. He lived. He’s here.”
I stared at Daniel, at the way he laughed with Stefan, their movements synchronized like reflections in a mirror.
My son. My lost son.
