Chapter 98 098
EMILY
My mom stood in the middle of the living room like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.
I leaned against the wall, watching her for a moment before I finally spoke.
“Why did you leave your house so late?”
She turned to me immediately, like she had been waiting for me to say something.
“I couldn’t stay away,” she said softly. “Not after today. Not after… finding you.”
There was something fragile in her voice.
Something real.
It made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t understand yet.
Morgan stood quietly by the side, her presence steady as always.
My mom glanced at her, her expression shifting.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For standing by her. For being there for my daughter.”
Morgan gave a small nod.
“Always.”
I exhaled softly and gestured toward the couch.
“Sit.”
My mom sat down slowly, smoothing her hands over her dress like she needed something to hold onto.
Morgan looked between us.
“Do you want coffee?”
“No,” I said.
“No, thank you,” my mom added gently.
Morgan gave a small smile.
“Alright. I’ll give you both some space.”
She walked away without another word, leaving the room wrapped in a quiet that felt heavier than before.
I sat across from my mom.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She just… looked at me.
Her eyes moved slowly across my face, like she was trying to memorize every detail all at once.
It made me shift slightly.
Then suddenly, she leaned forward and pulled me into a hug.
It caught me off guard.
“You look so much like her,” she whispered.
I pulled back slightly, frowning.
“Like who?”
“Your grandmother,” she said softly.
I let out a small laugh, more out of discomfort than amusement.
“I guess she’s gone now too, huh?”
My mom pulled back quickly, shaking her head.
“No.”
The word came out sharp.
Immediate.
“She’s alive. She’s in Hong Kong.”
I blinked, thrown off.
“Really?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Very much alive.”
I leaned back, trying to process that.
Another person.
Another connection.
Another piece of a life I had never known.
“My mother’s birthday is in two days,” she continued. “We’re traveling to Hong Kong to celebrate her.”
I nodded slowly.
“That’s… nice.”
The word felt wrong the moment it left my mouth.
She hesitated, her fingers twisting together.
“I suppose it’s too much to ask you to come with us.”
My chest tightened.
“How did I go missing?” I asked, purposely ignoring her last statement.
“No one ever told me about you,” I continued, my voice unsteady now. “I didn’t even know you existed.”
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
My mom took a slow breath.
“After I gave birth to you and Hazel…” she began, then paused, like the words themselves were difficult to hold. “I didn’t wake up. Not for days.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
“I lost consciousness,” she continued. “Your father was terrified. He didn’t know what to do.”
Her hands clenched slightly.
“We didn’t tell my mother I was pregnant. She didn’t approve of your father. He wasn’t wealthy then. She would have never accepted it.”
I frowned slightly.
“And when I didn’t wake up… he went to her anyway.”
My stomach tightened.
“And while all of that was happening…”
Her voice faltered.
“One of the nurses took one of the babies.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“What?” I whispered.
“They took you,” she said, her voice breaking.
I shook my head slowly.
“No… no, that doesn’t make sense.”
“We didn’t realize at first,” she rushed on. “By the time we did… you were gone.”
My throat tightened painfully.
“We searched,” she said. “Everywhere. For years.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“But my mother… she took us to Hong Kong. She didn’t want us staying in America anymore.”
“And then?” I asked, my voice barely there.
“Thirteen years ago, the nurse found us.”
My heart skipped.
“She told us you were alive,” my mom whispered. “Since then, we’ve been searching. Actively. Relentlessly.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“So you knew…” I whispered. “All this time?”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke completely now.
“Yes, we did.”
Silence stretched between us, filled with everything we couldn’t fix.
“Who took care of you?” she asked softly.
“My mom,” I said automatically.
The word felt strange now.
“She took care of me until I was eleven.”
“And then?”
“She died.”
The words came out flat, but the pain behind them wasn’t.
“I moved around after that,” I added. “Foster homes. Different places.”
Her hand reached for mine hesitantly.
“I’m so sorry.”
I shrugged slightly.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
“What did she do?” my mom asked gently. “Your… mom.”
I hesitated.
“She didn’t really have a stable job,” I said slowly. “We moved a lot.”
My fingers curled into my palm.
“But she used to say she was a nurse.”
The words settled into the air.
And something shifted.
Small at first.
Barely noticeable.
But enough.
My breathing faltered.
A strange feeling crept in—uneasy, insistent.
No.
I shook my head slightly.
It didn’t mean anything.
But the thought stayed.
Pressed harder.
Louder.
My heart started racing.
“I— I need a second,” I said, standing abruptly.
I didn’t wait for a response.
I walked out.
Up the stairs.
My thoughts crashing into each other.
It’s nothing.
You’re overthinking.
It can’t be that simple.
But what if it was?
I reached my room and pulled open the drawer.
My hands were shaking now.
I searched through it quickly—
Until I found it.
The picture.
I froze.
Staring at it.
My chest rising too fast.
It can’t be her.
But doubt had already taken root.
I grabbed it and rushed back downstairs.
My mom stood up immediately.
“Emily—?”
I held the picture out, my hand trembling.
“Is this her?” I asked. “The nurse… is this the woman who came to you?”
She took the picture.
Looked at it.
And then—
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “That’s her.”
Everything inside me went still.
“Where is she?” my mom asked urgently. “Where can I find her? I need to talk to her, I need answers—”
“She can’t.”
My voice came out quiet.
But it stopped her.
“She can’t answer anything.”
I looked at the picture again.
At the woman who raised me.
Loved me.
Lied to me.
“She was my mother,” I said softly. “She took care of me. She was all I had.”
My vision blurred.
“And now you’re telling me… she wasn’t even mine.”
“She’s dead,” I whispered.
My mom’s face fell apart.
“I buried her,” I added. “I cried for her. I missed her.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“And now I don’t even know who she really was.”
And for the first time since all of this started—
I didn’t feel like I had found something.
I felt like I had lost everything all over again.