He let out a relieved breath, his shoulders dropping.
“My name’s Sebastian,” the man explained. “I’m the director of a family support organization.”
I looked toward his car.
“How did you find my address?”
“Your daughter worked with our organization. Years ago, you sent us a memorial donation after she passed away. We still had your mailing address.”
He let out a relieved breath.
My chest tightened.
“You knew Emily?”
“Very well.”
I frowned.
“Why are you here?”
“Because someone wants to tell you what your daughter did for her.”
I stared at him.
“You knew Emily?”
“Who?”
“Gianna. Sophie’s mother.”
That surprised me.
“Why couldn’t she call?”
“She thought you’d understand better if you saw something first.”
I hesitated.
“Where are we going?”
“To our community center. It’s about 15 minutes away.”
That surprised me.
I glanced at his folder.
The woman in the picture looked familiar, but I hadn’t seen enough to identify her.
Finally, I nodded.
***
During the drive, Sebastian asked whether I’d eaten.
“No, you literally woke me up,” I answered.
He shook his head.
I glanced at his folder.
“Your daughter would’ve scolded you.”
I almost smiled.
Emily used to tell me that breakfast was essential.
After several minutes, Sebastian spoke again.
“She was an extraordinary woman. She helped more people than you probably realize.”
I almost smiled.
“What does that mean?”
He looked down at his folder.
“Gianna should explain.”
I didn’t like being kept in suspense.
But whenever Sebastian mentioned Emily, I felt obligated to see this through.
“What does that mean?”
***
We stopped outside a brick building with a blue door.
The sign above the entrance displayed the name of a family support center.
Sebastian led me inside.
There was a reception desk, several offices, and a room filled with children’s books.
Photos covered one wall.
Sebastian led me inside.
I approached them.
Then I stopped breathing.
My daughter was standing in the middle of a group of volunteers!
She was smiling, her arm around a younger woman.
I hadn’t seen that image before.
“That’s my daughter,” I whispered.
Sebastian nodded.
I stopped breathing.
“She helped establish our program for young parents.”
I stared at him.
“Emily told me she volunteered here. She never mentioned that.”
I looked at her photo again.
For a moment, I could almost hear her laugh.
“She never mentioned that.”
“Gianna’s waiting.”
He led me down a hallway.
Inside a small office sat Sophie’s mother.
She stood when she saw me, and I finally realized she was the woman in the picture Sebastian had shown me.
“Dr. Miller!”
I looked around.
“Gianna’s waiting.”
“What exactly is going on?”
Gianna gestured toward a chair.
“Please sit down. There’s something I should’ve told you yesterday.”
***
“First, how’s Sophie?” I asked.
Gianna smiled.
“She’s still in intensive care, but the doctors are encouraged.”
I felt relieved.
“Please sit down.”
Gianna folded her hands.
“Six years ago, I was 17 and pregnant.”
I waited.
“My parents weren’t supportive. I had nowhere stable to live, and I was terrified.”
She looked toward the doorway.
“Someone told me about this center. I came here hoping they could help.”
“I was 17 and pregnant.”
She picked up a photo that featured my daughter.
“That’s when I met Emily.”
My throat tightened.
“She changed my life.”
She explained that Emily was volunteering as a family support counselor.
When Gianna arrived, she was close to dropping out of school.
“She changed my life.”
“Your daughter sat with me for three hours,” Gianna said. “I kept apologizing for taking up her time. She told me, ‘People aren’t a waste of time.'”
I closed my eyes.
Those sounded exactly like my daughter’s words.
Gianna continued.
“Emily helped me find temporary housing. She connected me with a program so that I could finish school. Later, she helped me apply for childcare assistance.”
I closed my eyes.
I could barely speak.
“She never told me any of this.”
“She didn’t want credit. She just wanted people to have a chance.”
Gianna reached into a drawer.
Then, she placed another photo on the table.
It showed Emily holding a baby.
“She didn’t want credit.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Gianna’s eyes filled with tears.
“Sophie.”
I stared at the picture.
The little girl I’d operated on had once been held in my daughter’s arms.
“Emily was there when Sophie was born,” Gianna explained.
I looked up.
Gianna’s eyes filled with tears.
“She was?”
“Yes. I was scared. Emily stayed until I was done.”
Gianna smiled through tears.
“She was the first person outside my family to hold Sophie.”
I looked at the picture again.
Emily looked happy.
So happy.
“She was?”
I’d spent years staring at the same images of her, afraid that I’d eventually forget the details of her face.
Now, here were moments from her life I’d never known.
Gianna continued.
“She used to tell me about you.”
“Me?”
“She said her dad was a surgeon who helped people through the worst days of their lives.”
“She used to tell me about you.”
I swallowed.
“She said that?”
“All the time.”
Gianna leaned forward.
“She was proud of you, Dr. Miller.”
Those words nearly broke me.
Emily and I had argued about my work before.
“She said that?”
