For weeks, Daniel couldn’t sleep. His heart burned with one thought, I have to find her. He hired the best private investigators, searched old social records, nothing.
No death certificate, no trace. She was gone, or so they thought. Then, one crisp autumn afternoon, fate intervened.
Daniel had just finished a corporate lunch meeting in the old part of the city. Driving his bright orange supercar, he cruised slowly through the narrow streets, lost in thought. His mind drifted again to the photo in the envelope.
Her eyes, her face. Where are you, mother? Are you even alive? As he approached a busy intersection, traffic slowed. Daniel glanced at the sidewalk, and then he saw her.
An elderly black woman, thin, frail, hunched beneath the weight of a large cloth sack. Her clothes were torn, her feet were bare. She moved slowly, her head down, a beggar, forgotten by the world.
But Daniel’s heart jolted violently. Her face, those eyes, it was her. Adrenaline surged through his veins.
Without thinking, he slammed the brakes, his car screeching to a halt in the middle of the street. Horns blared behind him, but Daniel didn’t care. Shoving open the door, he leapt out onto the pavement.
The old woman looked up in surprise as the young millionaire in a sleek gray suit rushed toward her. For a moment, neither spoke. Daniel’s chest heaved, his hands trembled.
Then in a voice choked with emotion, he whispered, you. You’re my mother. The old woman blinked in confusion.
Her thin body trembled under the heavy sack. She looked at the young white man standing before her, dressed in a sharp gray suit, eyes wide with emotion. What? What did you say? She stammered.
Daniel’s voice broke. You, you’re my mother. I know it…
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