In a park, a woman urgently approaches a mother and her young daughter.
— Wait! Please… —she begs, kneeling down in front of the child.
— Who are you? —asks the mother defensively.
The woman pulls an old, worn photograph out of her bag and shows it to the little girl.
— Is that little child… me? —the girl asks in disbelief.
— Yes. Look at the small mark on your hand. It’s in the exact same place as in the picture, —the woman explains, gently showing the girl’s hand.
The mother quickly steps in, grabbing her daughter’s arm to pull her away: — That’s enough, we’re leaving!
— Mom… —the girl hesitates, looking at the photo— You said there were no pictures from when I was a baby?
The kneeling woman looks up at the mother with tear-filled eyes: — They were never lost. I kept them all. Because I didn’t leave her life by choice.
She then turns back to the child, declaring with quiet conviction: — I think it’s time she learned who her real mother is.
The painful secret of adoption and forced separation is laid bare in an instant, changing all of their lives forever.
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