She nodded. “It took years—cross-referencing, tracking origins, private channels. But eventually… I found a match.”
My pulse spiked. “And you’re sure?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I weren’t.”
“What do we do?”
“With your permission… I call them.”
I took a breath. “Do it.”
The call was short, calm, direct.
When she hung up, she looked at me.
“They want to meet you. Tomorrow. Here at noon.”
I was terrified, but I needed answers.
The next morning, I returned to the shop.
The bell rang.
A middle-aged couple walked in—well-dressed, composed, but their eyes locked on me.
The woman stepped forward, hand trembling.
“Oh my God…” she whispered.
The man beside her stared, afraid to blink.
Desiree stepped forward. “This is her.”
Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “You’re alive.”
They sat across from me, unable to look away.
“I’m Michael. This is my wife, Danielle. We are your parents.”
I gasped, swallowing hard.
“It was our former employee,” Michael explained tightly. “Years ago. Someone we trusted. He took you.”
“We believe he intended to demand money,” Danielle added. “But something went wrong. He vanished. And so did you.”
My hands went cold.
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