Caleb had always believed his mother died when he was just a baby—a tragic accident, his father told him. For years, he visited her grave, leaving flowers and whispering about his life, wishing she could hear him. But fate had a shocking twist in store.One ordinary Monday, as Caleb reviewed reports in his office, a new cleaning lady walked in. She was middle-aged, her hair streaked with gray, her hands rough from years of hard work. But when she looked up, Caleb froze. Her eyes—he knew those eyes. And when she rolled up her sleeves to wipe a spill from his desk, he saw it: a small, oval-shaped scar on her left forearm.

Just like his mother’s.His pulse raced. “That scar… how did you get it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.The woman, Michelle, hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I have no memory of my life before twenty years ago. I woke up in a hospital with no name, no past. I took the name ‘Michelle’ because it was on a billboard outside.”Caleb’s hands trembled. His father had always said his mother, Sarah, died in a car crash. But what if she hadn’t? What if she’d been alive all this time, lost and alone?