One day, I was heading home from work and worried about my evening bills. I halted when I heard a familiar music as I turned the corner onto the town square street.
I sang this song with my daughter Lily before she left us 17 years ago.
I wrote a lullaby about a meadow of flowers and sunlight for her to brighten her sleep. Nobody else would know. No one.
The song was clear as day, performed by a young woman across the plaza, eyes closed, smiling serenely.
The song reminded me of how our tiny child gave our house warmth and joy. She was our everything, and her untimely absence left a gaping wound that never healed.
I lost all my problems that day and felt my legs take me like I had no control.
Though my intellect said it couldn’t be, my heart kept me going.
The woman seemed disturbingly familiar. Her beautiful waves of dark hair framed her grin, which I felt I’d seen a thousand times in old images and recollections.
She even has a left cheek dimple like my wife Cynthia.
It seemed too unbelievable to accept, but there was this pull. An emotion only parents understand.
Could this be Lily?
I was nervous as I approached. I saw her complete the song and open her eyes. She noticed me gazing but glanced aside as the audience applauded.
Many thanks for listening! She smiled broadly. “Have a great day!”
She observed my weird expression as she caught my eyes.
“Looks like you didn’t like my performance,” she said me, going over. “Was I that bad?”
“Oh, no, no,” I laughed. That song is significant to me. Very special.”
“Oh, really?” she asked. I find it special too. This is one of my few childhood recollections. I’ve always sang it. I have nothing else from then.”
She appeared to be leaving, so I shouted, “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s a long story,” she said, checking her watch. “Maybe some other time.”
“Please, I’d like to hear it,” I begged, pulse racing. “I’ll buy you a coffee and we can talk if you don’t mind.”
She nodded after examining me. “Well… sure, why not?”
Walking to the café, we took a corner booth. Her appearance seemed more familiar as I watched her. Her smile, eyes, and voice seemed familiar.
Like a missing piece of my life fell into place.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I remarked, trying to stay calm.
“Thank you,” she said. “That band played when I was going through town for work. I had to sing when they asked.”
“That song… where did you learn it?” I requested.
Sighing, she looked down at her coffee. “I didn’t ‘learn’ accurately. It’s just… It’s all I remember from childhood. I always sang or hummed it. My adoptive parents called it my anthem.”
“Adoptive parents?” I asked shakily.
She nods.
“Yeah. When I was five, a family took me in. They informed me my real parents perished in a vehicle accident. “They showed me newspaper photos,” she said, tears in her eyes.
They were nice, gave me toys, and treated me properly. I always missed my actual parents. I eventually thought my adopted parents were the only family. As I got older, I had this nagging sensation that I was missing something, that maybe they weren’t telling me everything.”
Hands were shaking.
“And… did you ever find out the truth?” Asking carefully.
“I tried,” she said. “When I was older, my adopted parents sought to formalize it. They sought my legal adoption. They advised me to pretend I wanted to stay. So I did.”
“But when I turned 18,” she said. “I questioned everything. I looked for my true parents but didn’t have enough information. I tried to contact old friends, but my records didn’t match any missing youngsters. I had little information.”
Looking down at her hands, she hesitated. “I just have this song. I think about them.”
Pieces were fitting.
A part of me wanted to call for a DNA test immediately then to confirm what my heart knew, but I was too scared to trust it.
“Remember anything else about your real parents? Besides this song?” I requested.
“Everything’s fuzzy. I recall being happy before everything changed. I assume I was Lily?” Nervously, she laughed. But I’m unsure. My adoptive parents nicknamed me Suzy, and I eventually only answered that.
Her remarks were unbelievable.
“M-my daughter,” I mumbled. “Her name was Lily too.”
Her head snapped. “Are you serious?”
Holding back tears, I nodded. “She vanished at five 17 years ago. We found no answers. But we kept hoping. I’m married to Cynthia.”
Her eyes widened as she gasped.
“My mom’s name was Cynthia too,” she muttered. “I remember it well because mom had me pronounce her and my father’s names. “Are you John?”
“Yes,” I took her hand. “I’m John.”
We sat startled, staring at each other. As if a dam broke, tears fell. Years of desire, confusion, and anguish filled us as we held one other and cried.
It felt like all the wasted years and nights of wondering were answered.
Shaking, she muttered “Dad?”
“Yes, Lily,” I whispered. “It’s me… it’s us.”
After a time, I asked Lily to meet her mother.
After she followed me home, I phoned a cab with shaking hands.
We chatted little on the way home. I wondered how this was occurring. It was too wonderful to be true.
Because Cynthia would need time to process, I requested Lily to wait at the door when we arrived. However, she realized something was wrong as I entered.
“What happened?” she inquired. “Are you alright?”
“Cynthia, there’s something I need to tell you,” I murmured, stroking her shoulders.
Then I told her everything from the past few hours.
“Oh God, oh God,” she cried. “No, no. Can’t be. That’s impossible, John!”
I comforted her with my hands.
It’s true, Cynthia. Lily’s back,” I said.
“Where’s she? She questioned, “Where’s Lily?”
“She’s here, behind the door,” I said, crying.
After hearing this, Cynthia sprang from her chair and flung open the door. She cried when she saw our grown-up daughter at the door.
“Mom?” Lily reluctantly asked. “Is-is that you?”
Cynthia shouted, “Oh my God… my baby,” and embraced her.
They hugged and cried as if to make up for the years they’d lost. Watching them weep filled me with delight.
Finally, we sat down to catch up on the years we’d lost. We informed Lily we could never have children again as she recounted her life.
Cynthia inhaled deeply.
“Lily… Could you confirm with a DNA test?” Her face was sorry. “It’s just that after all this time, I just need to be sure.”
Lily nodded, lightly smiling. I get it, Mom. I’d want that too.”
The results of our test validated our suspicions within a week.
We owned Lily.
Our home filled with laughter, tears, and memories of our missed lives. We temporarily housed Lily, and each day seemed like a miracle.
I’ll never forget that regular evening on my way home from work when an ancient song reconciled a broken family. Life mysteriously brings back what we believed was lost forever.
