We cleaned her up, got her nice clothes. But Mom and I worried—our town’s small, word spreads fast, and foster care isn’t just a temp shelter. We decided to return her to the group home, and I’d apply to adopt her. I can’t have kids—doctors diagnosed me with infertility years ago. My fiancé dumped me when he found out, said he didn’t want a “barren” wife.
But Victoria gave me hope—a chance to be a mom. We dreamed of her room, a desk, a bed. I bought her toys, my heart bursting with joy. But our hopes crashed. At the group home, the director laughed in my face. Said I’d never get Victoria—single, not rich enough. I was furious. Half the country lives like me, and they raise kids fine! Is Victoria better off in a place where she’s bullied? I begged, but they brushed me off.
Victoria sobbed, clinging to me. Before we parted, she gave me this watch, saying it was from her late mom. I wear it always, and it breaks my heart. I visit her every weekend, praying for a miracle to adopt her. It’s my biggest dream.
Michael listened intently, then said:
- Sarah, thank you for sharing. Give me the group home’s address. After my conference, I’ll go there and dig deeper. I’ll do what I can to help. Oh, and the milk’s amazing—I drank half the bottle while we talked.
After that encounter, Michael couldn’t sleep or focus. He counted the seconds until his conference ended, obsessed with visiting the group home to learn about Victoria. It was a fragile lead to Emily—maybe she gave the watch to Victoria’s mother. If they were friends, he could trace Emily through her last name. He dreamed of finding her, begging forgiveness for his foolish jealousy.
Back in Pittsburgh, Michael used his connections to arrange a meeting with the group home’s director, a cold, dismissive older woman. She answered grudgingly:
- Yes, Victoria Thompson’s been here since infancy. Her mother died of a heart attack when she was one. I can’t share more—you’re not family. No visits allowed, no need. She’s a handful, always running away. At six! She’ll be trouble, that one.
Michael barely contained his anger:
- Excuse me? Why can’t I see her? What’s wrong with that?
The director snapped:
- Too many people want to poke around! We don’t hand out kids to strangers. You need to know how to ask favors, she smirked. I’m busy, so don’t let the door hit you.
Furious, Michael realized she was hinting at a bribe. The name—Thompson. Could it be Emily? The watch must be a memento. Why hadn’t he hired a private investigator sooner? Or contacted a politician whose wife he’d operated on? They could pressure the director and help Sarah adopt Victoria.
Michael hired a detective agency. A week later, they handed him a file:
- Everything we found on Emily Thompson. Check her friend Rachel’s address—they were close. We can go together if you’d like.
- Thanks, I’ll go alone, Michael said, barely containing his excitement. He remembered Rachel, Emily’s quiet, redheaded friend.
At Rachel’s address, a stout woman in curlers and an apron answered, a baby crying in the background, the air thick with fried onions. Michael hesitated:
- Hi, are you Rachel Davis?
She laughed:
- Mikey, you don’t recognize me? It’s Rachel! Yeah, I gained some weight after triplets. Come in! What brings you back to our old dorm? You’re a big shot now, top surgeon, even on TV!
Softly, he replied:
- Rachel, we’ll catch up later. Where’s Emily? After our fight, she vanished. I searched everywhere, but nothing. Years later, I still can’t forget her. You know how much we loved each other. I heard she might have a daughter—is it true?