But when Emily turned seventeen, Clara knew the truth could no longer wait. She sat her daughter down in the living room, her hands trembling, her voice unsteady. She explained about the metro, about the stroller, about how no one ever came. “You were abandoned,” Clara whispered, choking on the word. “But I chose you. I have always chosen you.”
Emily was quiet at first. Then she reached across the couch, clutching her mother’s hands. “You’re the only mom I’ve ever wanted,” she said fiercely. “If they didn’t want me, that’s their loss. I don’t care who they are—I’m happy I have you.”