Emma George's head snapped up, her face clouded with suspicion and disbelief as she stared at her.

Emily Blair closed her eyes slowly, letting the tangled emotions well up inside her. The feeling was impossible to name-bitterness, regret, a strange relief. It was all true. When too many coincidences pile up, they're no longer coincidences.

Maybe it was because she'd been running herself ragged these past days, chasing down leads for Adelaide George and her lost child, only to come up empty-handed. Perhaps fate had grown tired of her struggle and simply dropped the truth in her lap, stringing together all these "coincidences" into a revelation.

Emily opened her eyes and looked directly at Emma. "So, Adelaide George is really your sister?” Her voice was steady, but her heart pounded. "She died twenty-four years ago, didn't she?"

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you know that?"

Instead of answering, Emily shot back, “Isn't Adelaide's child about the same age as me?"

Emma's expression froze. She didn't need to reply-her silence was answer

enough.

Emily pressed on. "Do you know who Adelaide's child's real father is?"

Emma grew wary, lips pressed tight, refusing to answer.

Emily answered for her. "I know. The father was a wealthy businessman named Tate Vargas."

“Tate Vargas?” Emma echoed, trying to place the name. "Isn't that your teacher?" Emily stood up. "Wait here. I'll get the files."

A few minutes later, Emily returned and laid out everything she'd uncovered about Adelaide George—documents, notes, letters—right in front of Emma.

Emma scooped up the stack, rifling through the papers. Shock flickered across her face. "You... When did you..."

Emily explained, "I'm Tate Vargas's student. He has leukemia—late stage—and he's been bedridden for months. He asked me to find his daughter, the one he lost so many years ago. He wants to make things right. He told me the girl's mother was Adelaide George. After the baby was born, Adelaide left her at an orphanage. I went there, but no one matching her description was ever admitted. I don't think the child ever made it there."

Emma sat stiffly, fists clenched in the fabric of her skirt, anxiety written all over her.

Emily continued, "I also found out that Adelaide had a friend-a woman named Cynthia. Cynthia was the one who took care of her body after she died. Right now, the only way to find Adelaide's child is through Cynthia, but I have no idea where to start."

Emma's face turned ghostly pale.

Emily's tone softened. "Mom, I never imagined you were Adelaide's Cynthia. Or that you were tied up in all of this with Isabella Austin's family."

Emma stammered, "I... I..."

"I'll save the other questions for later." Emily's voice was gentle, but firm. “But I need to know—Is Isabella Austin Adelaide's biological daughter?"

Emma bowed her head, brow furrowed so tightly it looked painful. She hesitated for a long time, silent.

"If you have something to ask me, you can," Emily offered quietly.

Emma looked up, her eyes nervous and darting. “Is Tate Vargas really her father?" Emily nodded. "He is."

Emma's hands balled into fists. Her anger was palpable. “He had all that money, so why didn't he take my sister home? Why did she have to give birth alone in that hospital, so poor she couldn't even afford food? When I saw her, her baby was burning up with fever and they couldn't even afford the medicine. If it hadn't been for -" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind."

Emily said softly, "He's been living with guilt ever since. That's why he asked me to find his daughter-he's left an inheritance for her."

"Really?" Emma looked up at her, hope shining faintly in her eyes.

"Really," Emily assured her. “So—can you tell me who Adelaide's child is?"

Emma's gaze dropped to her lap again.

"Mom, is it that hard to say?"

Emma bit her lip, wavering; finally, she nodded and whispered, "Isabella Austin is

my sister's child. She's my niece."