The young woman offered a wistful smile. « I’m Dr. Emma Collins from the Northwest Genomics Center. I’ve been assigned a genetic identification case involving your DNA sample—and Lily’s. »
I staggered. « You mean… she’s alive? »
She nodded. « Yes, she’s alive. But she’s very ill. She has end-stage renal failure. She needs a transplant—and you’re a perfect match. »
His words struck me like lightning. My legs gave way. « Wait… you’re saying— »
« Yes, » she replied softly. « Lily is your biological daughter. »
The world shifted. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced through the years—the night I chased her away, the rain, her terrified eyes. And then that unbearable thought: I had rejected my own child.
I don’t remember how I got to the hospital. I only see myself in a sterile corridor, looking through a window at the pale silhouette of a young woman lying down, tubes inserted in her arms.
It was her.
Lily.
The nurse beside me whispered, « She was found homeless at a bus station years ago. A kind couple took her in and helped her finish her studies. She became a literature teacher. But she’s been ill for two years. She didn’t want to contact anyone—she just said, ‘If I die, try to find my father.' »
My throat tightened. Tears blurred my vision.
When I entered, Lily opened her eyes. For a long time, we simply looked at each other — ten years of silence between us. Then she smiled faintly.
« Daddy, » she whispered. « I knew you’d come. »
I fell to my knees beside her bed, squeezing her frail hand.
« I’m so sorry, darling, » I stammered. « I was blind, cruel, foolish. Forgive me. »
She shook her head gently.
« Don’t cry, Dad. I just wanted to see you one last time. »
I couldn’t accept it. I signed the consent form for the transplant right away. « Take what you need. Save her, » I told the doctors.
The operation lasted seven excruciating hours. When I woke up, the surgeon was smiling. « It went well. You both made it through. »
For the first time in years, I cried my eyes out — tears of relief, of repentance.
But fate wasn’t finished with me yet.
A week later, complications arose. My kidney began to fail, and Lily’s body showed signs of infection. She fell into a coma. I stayed by her bedside, hour after hour, whispering apologies into the still air.
Then, one peaceful morning, light filtered through the bedroom blinds. A barely audible voice broke the silence:
» Dad… «
I turned around — she was awake, a sweet smile on her lips. I jumped towards her.
« I promise you, » I whispered, hugging her, « I’ll never leave you alone again. »
She smiled, weak but radiant. « Live well, Dad. It’s all I ever wanted. »
For weeks, we recovered together in the same room—side by side, like two souls finally at peace. I fed her soup, helped her sit up, brushed her hair the way Laura used to. The nurses would stick their heads in the door and smile, saying that love could heal all wounds.
But some injuries go beyond the body.
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