Two years after Elizabeth passed, my daughter Mia began insisting her mother visited her at school. I thought it was just how she coped—until she brought home chocolates I hadn’t packed and drew eerily detailed pictures of Elizabeth.
Then came the shock: her teacher told me a woman, strikingly similar to my late wife, had been seen talking to Mia at school. I went to see for myself and confronted her. She looked exactly like Elizabeth.
She introduced herself as Angelina—Elizabeth’s twin sister, stolen at birth and separated by a corrupt nurse. Neither of them had known. Angelina had lost her own daughter and, when she saw Mia, couldn’t stay away.
She’d never meant to deceive, just found comfort in Mia’s innocence and love. We explained everything to Mia, who, confused but resilient, accepted Angelina as her aunt.
Now, Angelina is part of our lives—not as a mother, but as family. In her, Mia found joy again, and I found someone who helped us both heal.