I was walking home from work one day, thinking about the bills I had to pay that evening. But as I turned the corner onto the town square street, a familiar melody suddenly reached my ears and stopped me in my tracks.
It was the song I sang with my daughter Lily before she disappeared from our lives 17 years ago.
But here it was, clear as day, sung by a young girl standing across the square, eyes closed, with a bright smile.
The song reminded me of when our little girl filled our home with warmth and joy. Suddenly, all the worries disappeared from my mind that day, and I felt my legs carrying me forward like I had no control.
The woman looked familiar. Dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and looking at her smile made me think I’d seen it a thousand times in old photos and my own memories.
She even had a dimple on her left cheek.
Could this be my Lily?
“Looks like you didn’t like my performance,” she said, walking over. “Was I that bad?”
“Oh, no, no,” I chuckled. “I, uh, that song is special to me. It’s very special.”
“Oh, really?” she asked.
“It’s super special for me too. You see, it’s one of the few memories from my childhood. I’ve been singing it ever since I can remember. It’s the only thing I have left from back then.”
She looked like she was about to leave, so I blurted out, “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied as she glanced at her watch. “Maybe some other time.”
“Please, I’d like to hear it,” I urged, my heart pounding.
We walked over to the café and settled into a corner booth. The more I looked at her, the more familiar she seemed. Her eyes, her smile, and even her voice felt like home.
It felt like a missing piece of my life had suddenly fallen into place.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I said, trying to keep my composure.
She sighed, looking down at her coffee. “I didn’t ‘learn’ it exactly. It’s just… it’s the only thing I remember from my childhood. I used to sing it, or hum it, all the time. My adoptive parents said it was like my own little anthem.”
“Adoptive parents?” I asked, barely keeping my voice steady.
“Yeah. I was… taken in by a family when I was five. They told me my real parents had died in a car accident. They even showed me photos from the newspaper,” her face softened, eyes misty.
I wanted to call for a DNA test right there to confirm what my heart already knew, but a part of me was too terrified to believe it.
Her head snapped up. “Are you serious?”
She gasped, her eyes going wide.
“My… my mom’s name was Cynthia too,” she said. “I remember it clearly because she always used to make me say her and my father’s name. Are you… are you John?”
“Yes,” I held her hand. “I’m John.”
We just sat there for a moment, looking at each other in stunned silence.
It was as if all the lost years, the endless nights of wondering, finally found their answer.
“Dad?” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“Yes, Lily,” I managed, my voice breaking. “It’s me… it’s us.”
After a while, I asked Lily if she’d like to meet her mother.
Then, I told her everything that happened during the last few hours.
“Oh God, oh God,” she said in tears. “No, no. It can’t be. That’s impossible, John!”
I held her hands and tried to calm her down.
“It’s true, Cynthia. Our Lily’s back,” I smiled.
“Where is she? Where’s our Lily?” she asked.
“She’s here, behind the door,” I replied, my own eyes welling up with tears.
Cynthia took a deep breath.
“Lily… would you be willing to, uh, confirm, with a DNA test?” She looked apologetic. “It’s just that after all this time, I just need to be sure.”
Lily nodded, smiling softly. “I understand, Mom. I’d like that too.”
We scheduled a test, and within a week, the results confirmed what we already knew.
Lily was ours, and we were hers.
