When she saw the confusion on my face, she pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper and started writing.
I leaned closer—and the breath locked in my throat.
She had written:
Mom, please believe me. I really am your daughter, Emma Sullivan!
If you don't believe me, look.
Below those two lines, she wrote several more.
The blood drained from my face. My vision blurred red at the edges.
"Who are you? These lines are from my daughter's essay on the national college entrance exam. From ten years ago!"
"How could you possibly know what she wrote?"
My hands were shaking as I gripped the paper.
The blind girl nodded frantically, and two streaks of blood slid from her sightless eyes.
My heart seized. Could this girl really be my daughter?
Even the handwriting was identical.
I stumbled home barely able to keep my footing, and before I could even push the door open, my legs gave out.
"Mom?"
Emma opened the door and stared down at me.
"What are you doing sitting on the ground? The floor's freezing. Come inside."
I looked up at her unbothered face, and only one thought remained.
The handwriting. I had to see her handwriting.
I took out a sheet of paper and a pen and held them out to her.