“Because if there’s even the smallest chance…” Rebecca’s voice broke. “We need to know.”
After a long pause, Grace nodded once.
The shelter was only three blocks away. Grace walked slightly ahead, as if leading them into her world. The building smelled of bleach and overcooked vegetables. The front desk clerk looked startled when Michael and Rebecca stepped inside—tailored coats, polished shoes, faces pale with urgency.
“Miss Linda?” Grace called.
A woman in her forties emerged from an office. She froze when she saw the couple.
“Can I help you?”
Michael spoke first. “We believe Grace may be our daughter.”
The words felt impossible and fragile in the air.
Miss Linda’s expression shifted from confusion to caution. “That’s a serious claim.”
Rebecca removed a photo from her purse—a picture she carried every day. A newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket. Around her neck: the same medallion.
Miss Linda inhaled sharply.
“She was found the night of the hospital fire,” she said slowly. “No identification. Authorities assumed her family didn’t survive. We tried for months to trace records, but the system was chaos back then.”
Michael’s knees nearly buckled.