My mother collapsed.
His knees fell and he collapsed in a chair.
My father tried to shut her up, but she yelled at her.
“No! We've already hidden this enough! »
Then he confessed the truth.
The second baby was not dead.
My parents followed me after I knew where I lived. My mother wanted to take me home, but my father refused. When they discovered that she had given birth to twins, she bribed a clinic employee to report the death of one of the babies.
They took my daughter while she was unconscious.
My father thought I could raise her without anyone discovering that she was the daughter of her “disgraced” teenage daughter. They told the city that the baby was the baby of a deceased distant relative.
They called her Sofia.
My mother had spent twenty years pretending to be Sofia’s grandmother at home and her mother in public.
I was out of breath.
“You stole my son,” I whispered.
My father looked down.
“We gave him a good life,” he said.
“A good life? “I screamed. “You have allowed me to carry an empty coffin in my heart for twenty years! »
Sofia started crying.
He said he'd always felt like something was wrong. My mother had finally confessed that she was not her biological mother, but she refused to reveal her identity.
I called Valentina.
When he arrived, as soon as the sisters met, they froze.
It was like attending the long-awaited gathering of two unfinished souls.
They had the same smile. The same nervous mania of turning a ring around his finger. Even their voices were similar.
Valentina came over and stroked Sofia's face.
“I always felt like I was missing someone,” he whispered.
Sofia held her in her arms.
