Michael took their daughter and vanished. Mutual acquaintances suggested it was pointless to search for Sophie. Michael had married that woman and moved to Europe with her and the child.
Despite Elizabeth’s efforts, she could learn nothing more of Sophie’s fate. She had no choice but to return to her mother in rural Ohio. There, she found work at the maternity hospital, where, for years, she helped other women become mothers, though she lost that joy forever herself.
Elizabeth never remarried, rejecting all suitors. After her mother’s death, she lived alone, giving all her care and love to her patients. She treated every woman equally, whether rich or poor, a CEO or a factory worker.
All were vulnerable in their pain. All needed help. And they received it, just like this young prisoner.
When Elizabeth heard her name, memories of her daughter surfaced again. But why memories? She never forgot her for a moment. Now, her daughter would be the same age as this young woman in trouble.
Where was her little one, her own flesh and blood? Perhaps she had become a mother too? Dr. Harper shook her head, pushing away the anxious thoughts and focused on her work. “Sophie, this isn’t the way to do it,” she said sternly, continuing to give commands. “Breathe, breathe correctly.”
“Put your foot like this.” As she adjusted the woman’s foot, she saw something familiar. There was an arrow-shaped scar on the patient’s foot.
Though faint, Elizabeth needed only a fleeting glance to recognize the scar she could never mistake for another. It was the one she had kissed when her daughter’s wound had healed. She even dreamed of it.
“Sophie,” Elizabeth whispered in shock, frozen in place. “Yes,” moaned the woman in labor. “Is something wrong?” “No, no, everything is going well.”
“You’re doing great.” Elizabeth snapped back to reality, noticing the surprised looks of the nurse and pediatrician. Nothing was certain yet.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Soon, Sophie gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Elizabeth placed the tiny infant on her mother’s chest and watched their first meeting with joy.
“Daughter, my darling,” Sophie whispered, kissing the tiny fingers. “I will not abandon you. I will not give you to anyone, my darling.”
The young mother cried so sincerely, so bitterly, that all the women in the delivery room couldn’t help but tear up. It was an unenviable fate for the newborn and her mother. Even if they were allowed to stay together for a while, they would still be separated.
After all the procedures, mother and baby were taken to the ward. The guards, now permitted to enter and remove the handcuffs, intended to take Sophie straight back to the prison and let child services deal with the child. Sophie, sobbing, listened to this on the gurney, but no one paid attention to her distress.
“The bosses ordered it.” “How is she?” one of the guards asked Elizabeth dismissively. “The patient is fragile, and I won’t discharge her until morning at the earliest,” she replied, barely restraining herself from yelling at the rude guard.
“But we have a hospital in the prison. She can recover there.” “What if her condition worsens during transport? No, I’m not letting her go anywhere.”
There was nothing to be done. The guards yielded to the doctor’s words but warned that their colleagues would come to guard the ward that day. Elizabeth was forced to agree.
She was tired of arguing. But where could a woman run after childbirth? She couldn’t even stand yet. Yet Elizabeth also had a superior and the law.
In the evening, Elizabeth went into the resident’s lounge and sank tiredly into an armchair. All her thoughts were about the woman she had delivered today. Sophie—could she really be her daughter? But why was she in prison? What had she done? Where was her wealthy father? Or perhaps that scar was just a vision.
She needed to check Sophie’s foot again. Elizabeth reviewed the patient’s chart. Type O positive blood.
Same as herself. And the face. Now it seemed to Elizabeth that Sophie looked just like her late mother.
After all, her daughter had inherited her grandmother’s blue eyes and chestnut hair. Could it be true? Elizabeth left the resident’s lounge and headed for Sophie’s room. There were no guards yet, and the midwife quietly opened the door.
The young mother was asleep. Elizabeth cautiously approached, lifted the blanket, and looked at the foot. Yes, that very scar.
Sophie opened her eyes. “What happened? Something wrong with my girl?” She tried to lift herself but winced in pain. “Hush, hush, sweetheart,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Everything’s fine with your baby. I just came to check on you.” “Everything hurts,” Sophie said pitifully.
“That’s normal. It happens. Everything will pass.”
“The pain will subside, and there will be only joy that you now have a daughter,” answered Elizabeth. She spoke quietly, calmly, though her lips trembled and her hands were shaking.
She clasped them together and sat down on the chair beside her. “Sophie, tell me, what happened to you? Why did you end up in prison? Maybe I can help. Or is there someone you need to inform?” “I have no one,” Sophie answered softly.
“And why I ended up there? Nobody believed me. And why would you? Tell me, will they really take my daughter away from me? Didn’t they say we’d be together until she was three?” Saying this, Sophie, overcoming the pain, raised herself on her elbow. Biting her already chapped lips, she stared unblinkingly at the doctor.
Elizabeth didn’t know how to answer. In this case, everything was out of her hands. “I’ll try to find out everything,” she reassured.
“And you tell me about yourself. I can see that you’re not a criminal. You’re just in trouble.”
“That’s right,” Sophie cried. “And I don’t know what to do. How to live on?” And the young woman told her story.
Elizabeth learned that as a child, Sophie lived in Europe with her father and his wife. She barely remembered her mother. Her father said she had died.
Her stepmother constantly belittled her. In Europe, her father’s business began to collapse, forcing them to return to the U.S. But even here, things went poorly.
A few years later, her father and stepmother died in a car accident, and the bank seized all their property for debts. At fifteen, Sophie ended up in a foster home. The three years before she aged out were a nightmare.
Her peers disliked her, considering her an outsider. She endured constant bullying and harassment, with no friends to turn to. Finishing high school became her salvation.
The young woman thought all the hardships in her life were over, but everything was just beginning. Sophie had a talent for art and dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. She enrolled in a community college in Cincinnati, and thankfully, the state provided her, as a foster youth, with a small apartment—her sanctuary of comfort and peace.
After classes, she would come home and dream. Sophie envisioned becoming a designer with her own boutique. She would meet her prince, build a strong family, and have at least three children.
Sophie longed for a large family, certain she would be a wonderful mother. She would be the most loving, the most tender, just like her own mother, whom she barely remembered. Only in dreams did she glimpse her mother’s hazy image and hear her forgotten voice, so warm and soft.
Her father never spoke about her, and no photographs survived. He claimed the photo album was lost during the move, and digital versions were corrupted by a virus. “Her name was Elizabeth, like yours,” Sophie told the doctor, sharing her memories.