Twenty minutes later, we reached the outskirts of an old town.
The hospital stood behind a rusted gate, its pale walls stained by years of rain. Most of the windows were dark, and weeds had grown along the cracked walkway.
It looked abandoned.
A gray-haired man stood near the entrance, holding a thick folder against his chest.
When he saw me step out of the car, he froze.
His eyes moved across my face, and his lips parted slightly.
“Oh, my goodness,” he whispered.
I took a cautious step toward him.
“Are you Robert?”
“Yes.”
“Then please tell me why I’m here.”
He looked at Daniel, then back at me.
“You have your mother’s eyes.”
My heart began pounding again.
“Which mother?”
Robert’s expression changed.
He opened the folder with trembling fingers.
And the first photograph I saw was of a young woman I had never met.
Yet something about her face felt strangely familiar.
