PART 10 — The Lost Daughter
The news struck like a bomb in the small, sunny kitchen. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded deafeningly loud. A second family? A daughter? My whole stomach clenched in a mixture of disbelief, anger, and grief.
For forty-five years, I had thought I was the only woman in Thomas's life. I had given him everything. I had defended his memory, risked my own safety, and now it turned out he had led a completely different life behind my back?
"Let me see that letter," I said with an ice-cold voice that sounded foreign even to me.
Elena slowly slid the envelope across the wooden table. The seal of the law firm in Amsterdam was already broken. With trembling fingers, I pulled out the thick sheet of paper.
It was drafted in the formal language of a notary, but at the bottom was a handwritten appendix by Thomas himself. I recognized his handwriting immediately.
'Dearest Maria, If you are reading this, it means the danger has passed and the file has come to light. But it also means my biggest personal secret has been revealed. I do not ask for your forgiveness, for what I did is unforgivable. During my undercover operation in Antwerp in 1978, I had to enter into a relationship with Sofia—the woman in the photo. What was supposed to be a cover became a tragic reality. Sofia became pregnant.
When the operation failed and I had to go into hiding, I couldn't take them with me. To protect her and the child from the people behind the network, I gave them a new identity. I never had contact with Sofia again, but I secretly provided for her living expenses through an anonymous fund.
Her name is Hannah. She is now 44 years old. She doesn't know who her real father is. She believes her father was a hero who died in combat. Maria, I beg you… do not judge her too harshly. She is innocent of my sins.'
I let the letter drop onto the table. The tears I had held back so bravely during the drama with Julian now broke forth in full force. I wept for the betrayal, for the lies upon which my entire marriage seemed to have been built.
Elena sat beside me and wrapped her arms around me comfortingly. "I'm so sorry, Maria. I hesitated whether I should give you this. But you have a right to the full truth."
"Where… where does she live?" I asked between my sobs.
Elena pointed to an address at the bottom of the notarial deed. "In Rotterdam. She has a small flower shop in the center."
A flower shop. Ironically, Thomas had always had a passion for flowers—something he had always dismissed to me as my hobby, but which evidently sprang from a deeper desire.
I couldn't sleep the whole night. I tossed and turned, pondering endlessly. Should I visit her? What good would it do? Wouldn't it only cause more pain for both of us? But on the other hand: she was flesh and blood from Thomas. She was Julian's half-sister.
The next morning, I made up my mind. I put on my best coat, packed my purse, and asked Elena to drive me to the station.
"Are you really going to her?" Elena asked worriedly on the platform.
"I have to see her, Elena," I replied. "I need to see with my own eyes who she is. Only then can I finally close the chapter on Thomas."
Two hours later, I stepped off at the bustling central station of Rotterdam. The city was hectic, full of modern buildings and rushing people. The contrast to my quiet village couldn't have been greater.
I walked to the shopping street where the flower shop was supposed to be located according to the address. It was a pretty, nostalgic little shop named 'De Buitenhof'. Outside on the sidewalk stood colorful displays full of roses, tulips, and sunflowers.
My heart hammered in my throat as I stopped in front of the storefront. Through the glass, I saw a woman standing behind the counter.
She was arranging a bouquet of red roses. She had dark, curly hair pinned up in a loose bun, and when she looked up to greet a customer, I saw her face.
My breath caught.
She had the exact same warm, brown eyes as Thomas. The same way she tilted her head when listening. And above her left eyebrow was a small, almost invisible scar—just like her mother's in the 1978 photo.
I pushed the door open. A small brass bell chimed above my head.
The woman looked up from her flowers and smiled kindly. "Good morning, ma'am! Can I help you? Are you looking for something specific?"
I stood rooted to the spot. My tongue felt heavy. "I-I… I'm looking for Hannah," I stammered.
"That's me," she said with a lively voice. "Do you know me?"
I took a step forward and stared at her. "My name is Maria. I am… I was Thomas's wife."
The impact of that name was immediate. The smile on Hannah's face froze. The scissors she was holding slipped from her fingers and hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter…
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