Emil lifted his gaze from the scattered papers on the desk. For a moment, his harsh face lit up, but it quickly darkened, as if he had rejected the very idea.
“What do you say, girl? It’s a cruel joke… My daughter is dead, I myself put the earth over her coffin,” he said in a broken voice.
Veronica clasped her hands, trembling. She remembered the long nights in the clinic, where that girl with sad eyes always drew the same symbol in the corner of her notebook. A wildflower. Exactly the flower she had seen in Caterina’s photo, held in the hand of a child.
“I’m not lying to you, Mr. Stănescu. I took care of her. They called her by another name, but the scar… the gaze… it was her. Caterina is alive.”
Old Constantin, leaning on his cane, had slowly entered the room. He had heard everything. His gaze had risen to the ceiling, as if asking for a sign from God.
“Then, Emil, don’t let what you have left slip away,” he whispered.
At that moment, the memory of the burial collided with the living image of the girl. Emil collapsed into a chair, his palms at his temples.
“If you’re telling the truth, someone has lied to me… Someone wanted me to believe she was dead, to take everything from me.”
Veronica felt a cold shiver run up her spine. Fragments of conversations heard at the clinic echoed in her mind. A name. An influential doctor. A business partner of Emil.
“I saw a man visiting her. He wasn’t her father… it was someone else. He spoke to her in whispers and secretly gave her medication.”
A heavy silence followed. The clock on the wall ticked rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Emil raised his gaze to Veronica, his eyes filled with a fierce determination.
“Tomorrow morning we leave. You will take me there.”
That night was long. Veronica couldn’t sleep, thinking of Caterina, of the lost smile of a girl who might not even know her father was searching for her. Outside, dogs barked long and loud, and the moon covered the empty streets with silver.
In the morning, a black carriage awaited them at the gate. Emil, dressed soberly, seemed ready to face hell itself. Old Constantin watched them leave and crossed himself.
The road to the clinic passed through sleepy villages, where women came out to throw water in front of the gate, as was done in ancient times to ward off evil. Veronica remembered her grandmother’s stories, who always said that “the truth, once buried, always rises to the surface, like grass among stones.”
When they reached the large iron gates of the institution, Veronica felt her heart tighten. There, beyond cold walls and barred windows, a girl lived her life in shadow, unaware that her father still loved her.
Emil stepped down resolutely, with heavy steps, and looked at the gate. He raised his hat and said in his once strong voice, that of a man who had nothing left to lose:
“If my daughter is alive here, then no one and nothing will stop us from bringing her home.”
At that moment, Veronica understood that what was about to happen was not just a fight for a lost girl, but for truth, for family, and for the justice that, even if late, had to be done.
And in the warm July air, above the iron fences, it seemed that even the birds had stopped singing, waiting for the outcome.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
