Canary took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and headed toward the door with quiet determination.
A light knock on the car window stirred Joel awake. The sky had just begun to brighten, casting a soft golden glow over the trees.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked out to see a very old woman, slightly hunched, holding a garden hoe. Her face was weathered but kind, framed by a faded floral scarf.
Joel slowly rolled down the window and on recognizing the old woman he stepped out.
" Getting.." He said with a low bow.
" Greetings. You look ti be from the town, What are you doing here ?" The old woman asked.
" I'm sorry, I was just...."
"Wait ! son," She cut him midway.
" Aren't you the young man who lived here years ago? With Belinda?"
Joel stepped out of the car, stretching his sore limbs. "Yes. I'm Joel."
A smile of recognition formed on her face. "Ah… I knew it. I never forget a face. You two were such a sweet couple. I was sorry to hear about Belinda… such a kind girl."
Joel nodded quietly, the pain still raw. "She didn't make it. Cancer took her not long after our daughter was born."
The old woman's expression softened with sympathy. "Yes, I remember hearing about her death. Poor thing."
Then she paused, studying Joel more closely.
"And your daughter?" she asked. "How is she now? I don't remember hearing anything else after Belinda passed."
Joel's eyes dropped to the ground. "She died too… I was away working. When I came back, I was told she had passed while I was gone."
The old woman's brows drew together in confusion. "That's strange. I remember the neighbors talking about Belinda's passing. But… not the little one. No one ever mentioned the child dying."
Joel looked up, heart suddenly pounding. "You're sure?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. I was here the whole time. I'd have known. Last I remember, she was taken away… maybe by a relative, I think. But no one ever said she died."Joel's gaze hardened with confusion. His voice came low, cautious.
"Are you really sure the child didn't die? They told me she had a fever… and that she didn't make it."
The old woman leaned on her hoe, her eyes narrowing as she tried to recall clearly.
"I remember the fever, yes. She was burning up. The young maid—you left her in charge, didn't you? Petite girl, always quiet. What was her name… Mariam?"
Joel nodded slowly, the name ringing painfully familiar. "Yes. Mariam."
The woman continued, "Well, I saw her one morning—panicked—carrying the baby out. She said she was taking her to the hospital. Everyone thought that made sense. But after that… she came back alone."
Joel's heart sank. "And she said the baby had died?"
The woman shook her head firmly. "No. That's what's strange. She told Mrs. Clarke across the road that a rich family had offered to adopt the baby… give her a better life. Said the hospital referred the family to her."
Joel blinked, stunned. "She gave away my daughter?"
"That's what she said. No one questioned it much. Belinda was gone, you had disappeared… the baby was sick, and the maid said she didn't have a choice."
Joel took a step back, feeling like the ground was falling out from beneath him.
"But no death?" he whispered. "No burial… no funeral?"
The old woman looked him dead in the eye. "Not that I ever heard of, son."
Joel stared at the road ahead, breath uneven. Everything he thought he knew—his grief, his loss it all cracked open like glass.
His daughter might still be alive.
Joel's breath came faster now, heart pounding as if it wanted to leap out of his chest. A flicker of hope burned through the fog of grief that had lived inside him for years.
"Mariam," he said. "Do you know where she went after that? Where she lives now?"
The old woman shook her head slowly. "She didn't stay long after the baby was taken. A few months, maybe. Then she packed up and left without a word. Never even said goodbye."
Joel ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. "Do you think I could find her?"
She gave a small, pitying smile. "After all these years? I doubt it, son. People like her don't leave trails."
Joel clenched his jaw. "Someone must have known something. If she really handed over my daughter to some family there has to be a record."
The old woman nodded thoughtfully. "Then the hospital would be your best bet. That's where she said she took the baby. They might have paperwork, a name, something."
Joel looked toward the road, his mind already racing.
"She didn't die," he whispered to himself. "She might be out there."
He turned back to the old woman, eyes sharp. "Thank you."
She gave him a sad nod. "I hope you find her, Joel. That little girl deserved a chance. And maybe… she got it."
Joel didn't wait another second. He rushed back to his car, a sense of purpose pulsing through his veins for the first time in years.
The hospital walls were worn with time—off-white paint peeling in places, the air filled with the sharp scent of disinfectant and age. Joel walked briskly through the corridors, his expression intense, his mind racing with fragments of hope.
He reached the Information & Records Room, where an older nurse sat behind a desk sorting through a stack of patient files.
"I need information," Joel said, his voice low but firm. "About a baby girl brought here around twenty years ago. She was about three months old and had a severe fever."
The nurse looked up, blinking slowly. "Twenty years is a long time, sir. We don't just hand out records like that—especially not without proper identification or a name."
Joel exhaled sharply. "I don't have a name. I wasn't there. I wasn't told anything at the time."
She began to shake her head. "Then I'm sorry, I can't help—"
Before she could finish, Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash, placing it quietly on the desk between them.
The nurse stared at it, then at him.
"I'm not trying to break rules. I just need answers," Joel said. "Please."
She hesitated, then slowly pulled the cash into a drawer and locked it. "Fine. But you'll need to give me something—anything—to narrow it down. Date? Surname? The name of the mother?"
Joel shook his head. "The only thing I have is this."
He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a small silver necklace—a tiny pendant shaped like a moon and star.
"It belonged to the baby. I gave it to her before I left. It's all I have."
The nurse leaned forward, studying the necklace. "This might help… if she was wearing it when she was brought in, or if it was recorded in her discharge notes."
Joel watched her hopefully.
The nurse nodded slowly. "I'll try. No promises, but I'll do my best to look into it. Give me a day or two."
Joel's voice was barely above a whisper. "That's all I ask