A homeless pregnant woman found herself standing outside the maternity ward’s doors. Nobody was aware of her identity or origins. Everything changed when a doctor looked into her eyes. 😲
😵 When they brought her in that evening, I was on duty. In reality, nobody had brought her; she had just shown up at the maternity ward’s gate. Pale and pregnant, her eyes were filled with pain and a quiet cry for assistance.
She hardly moved as she sat on a bench in the hallway, clutching her belly. We couldn’t register her because she didn’t have any documentation, possessions, or even a name.
Coworkers murmured: “What are we going to do with her? Where ought we to send her? As though there was no time to deal with it, the chief midwife merely waved her hand.
I was about to get close when Dr. Michael Thompson came into the hallway. When he saw her, he froze. His eyes grew heavy and a little vacant, as though he were staring at a ghost from the past rather than a patient.
He whispered, “Who is this woman?” but got no response.
The physician approached, dropped to his knees in front of her, and met her eyes directly. His expression changed from one of bewilderment to one of recognition.
Without even glancing at us, he added sternly, “Get her a room immediately.”
I saw his eyes linger on a tattered silver chain around her throat. Then he whispered abruptly:
— My God Could it be her?
The physician got up and silently escorted the woman into a room that was deserted. The door shut behind them instantly.
We looked at one another; this was the first time I had ever seen him like way. Normally cool and collected, there was a sense of haste in his motions and worry in his eyes.
I entered the room with an IV a few minutes later. He was talking to her, practically whispering, while she sat on the bed. The words “back then… I didn’t make it… forgive me…” were all I could make out.
She clasped the necklace in her palm and turned her head away.
I could sense the tension in the air as I hooked up the IV. Despite her silence, the woman’s eyes had a familiar look. and I was unable to identify it.
The doctor continued softly, “You know that everything will be different now,” and I sensed human grief rather than medical firmness in his voice.
Without looking up, she nodded.
Excuse me, doctor. — I couldn’t help myself. — Who is she?
He seemed to be considering every word as he gazed at me. Then he let out a long sigh and said, “She’s my sister.”
I almost dropped the IV.
However, you claimed to have no one.
I had to say that, he said, cutting me off. More than ten years have passed since we last spoke. She vanished.
I didn’t ask any questions. But as soon as I stepped out of the room, I understood that her narrative was much more nuanced than just a missing cousin showing up.
