Martin gave him a sharp look. “The accident site? Ed, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I need to see it again,” Edward insisted. “Please, Martin.”
An hour later, they stood at the overlook near the bridge. The memory of that night came back with visceral force. The fury of the storm, the road washing out beneath their tires. The sickening moment of freefall before the impact with the swollen river. Edward had managed to claw his way out of the sinking car, but Emma’s seatbelt had jammed. His last memory before losing consciousness was her terrified face as water filled the cabin.
“The current would have carried her downstream,” Edward said, pointing to the churning water below. “If she somehow got free and reached the bank, she could have been found miles downriver. Maybe near where Martha said she found Lily.”
Martin shook his head. “It’s still a long shot, Ed. The water was freezing, the current deadly. And if Martha found her, why didn’t she report it?”
“Maybe she tried,” Edward suggested. “Or maybe she was afraid of losing her. An older woman living on the edge finds an injured child… she might have feared the authorities would take her away.”
“You’re building a story based on hope, not evidence,” Martin warned. “I’m worried about what happens when… when you find out Lily isn’t Emma.”
“I’ve considered that,” Edward replied. “And if she isn’t, I’ll still make sure they’re both taken care of. But I have to know, Martin. I can’t rest until I know.”
Back in the city, Edward arrived at the apartment at exactly six, carrying flowers for Martha and a small telescope for Lily—a reward for what he suspected would be an excellent math test result.
The evening passed pleasantly. Lily proudly displayed her ‘A’ on the test and chatted excitedly about her science project. After dinner, while Lily was doing her homework in her room, Edward helped Martha with the dishes, working up the courage for the conversation he needed to have.
“Mrs. Miller,” he began cautiously. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning, about Lily’s dreams.”
Martha’s hands stilled in the soapy water. “What about them?”
“My daughter Emma disappeared two years ago when our car went off a bridge during a storm,” Edward said quietly. “She was trapped by her seatbelt as water filled the car. Those dreams Lily is having—they’re exactly what happened to Emma that night.”
Martha slowly dried her hands on a kitchen towel, her expression unreadable. “What are you suggesting?”
“I think you know,” Edward replied gently. “The timing matches, the physical resemblance is extraordinary. The scar is identical. And now these dreams. Martha, is there any chance Lily is actually Emma?”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
“I found her by the river,” Martha finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Soaked to the bone, half-frozen, unconscious. I thought she’d be dead by morning.”
Edward’s heart hammered in his chest. “When?”
“Two years ago, during the big storm. She had no ID. When she woke up, she didn’t remember anything—not her name, her family, nothing. I tried to take her to the clinic, but they wanted paperwork I didn’t have. They said she’d be put in the system.”
“So you kept her,” Edward said, no judgment in his voice.
Martha nodded. “I named her Lily, after my own daughter who passed away years ago. I told her she was my granddaughter, and eventually, she accepted it as truth. I never meant to steal anyone’s child, Mr. Harrison. I truly believed she was lost to whoever loved her before.”
“I believe you,” Edward assured her, struggling with his emotions. “You saved her life. You cared for her when I couldn’t. I can never repay that debt.”
Martha gripped the edge of the counter. “What happens now?”
