Devastated Mom Looking to Adopt Finds Girl at Agency Who's a Carbon Copy of Her Late Daughter

I lost my daughter in a car accident a year ago. Overwhelmed with grief, I thought adopting might help me cope. I found a girl in a nearby foster home who looked exactly like my daughter. My daughter was alive and well, but before I got any answers I was forced to fight for her return.

It's hard to believe it's been almost a year since I lost my Lisa. It was just an ordinary morning when she left for the school trip, full of excitement and laughter. I never imagined it would be the last time I'd see her smile.

The call I got later that day shattered my world - there had been a terrible car accident. My heart raced as I waited for more information, praying Lisa was safe.

But the news that followed was unimaginable; my sweet girl, just 12 years old, was gone.

The accident was all over the news, with reports of many children injured. But Lisa... they said she didn't make it.

The pain was unbearable. I remember the days that followed were a blur of tears and disbelief. My husband tried to comfort me, but nothing could fill the void left by Lisa's absence.

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The hardest part was the funeral. Because of the condition of her body from the accident, they said we couldn't have an open casket. I desperately wanted to see her one last time, to say goodbye properly.

But I couldn't. All I could do was stand there, in front of that closed casket, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss.

The beautiful flowers and sympathetic words from friends and family felt like they were for someone else's tragedy. Not mine. This couldn't be happening to my family.

I remember clutching Lisa's favorite teddy bear, the one she used to sleep with every night. It was a small, fluffy bear with a worn-out ribbon around its neck.

Holding it, I tried to find some comfort, but it only served as a painful reminder of her absence. I whispered a goodbye to the bear, hoping somehow, it would reach her.

Ever since that day, my life feels like I'm trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Night after night, I'm haunted by dreams of Lisa. In these dreams, she's always just out of reach, calling for me with that sweet, high-pitched voice of hers.

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I wake up reaching out to her, but she's never there. It's just the silence of my room, and the aching emptiness in my heart.

During the day, it's no better. I hear her laughter in the most unexpected places – in the supermarket, at the park, even in the quiet of my own home.

I turn around so fast, hoping, praying that it's her. But it's never Lisa. Just a mirage created by my longing heart.

My husband, Mark, he's been trying to be there for me, but my grief is like a wall between us. We used to be so close, but now, it's like we're strangers.

I even tried going to a psychologist, Dr. Wilson. He was kind, with a gentle voice that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could get through this. He prescribed me some pills to help with the sleepless nights.

For a while, they worked. I'd fall asleep quickly, but the dreams of Lisa stopped too. And I missed those dreams, missed seeing her, even if it was just in my sleep.

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So, I stopped taking the pills. I know Dr. Wilson wouldn't approve, but those dreams are all I have left of her. When I told Mark, he just sighed and ran his hands through his hair, a sign I knew meant he was worried.

"Sarah, this isn't healthy," he said, but his words felt distant, like they were coming from another world.

I know he's scared for me, but I'm scared too. Scared of forgetting her face, her voice, her laugh. Those dreams, as painful as they are, keep her alive in my heart.

So, every night, I go to bed hoping to see her again, even if it's just a dream. It's the only way I can hold onto her, the only way I can keep from drowning in this ocean of grief.

I reached a point where I couldn't bear the emptiness anymore. My house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now felt cold and silent. I needed something, someone to fill the void Lisa left in my heart.

That's when the idea of adopting a child came to me. Maybe, just maybe, I could give my love to another child who needed it.

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Finding an orphanage was surprisingly easy. I spent hours on my laptop, my fingers hesitantly hovering over the keys before I finally typed in the search. The screen lit up with a list of places, but one caught my eye – "Sunny Days Orphanage."

It sounded like a place filled with hope, a place where maybe I could find a piece of the happiness I had lost.

I clicked on the website, and pictures of smiling children filled my screen. My heart ached as I scrolled through them. Each face seemed to whisper a story of longing, a longing for a family, for a home.

I found myself drawn to these children, wondering about their lives, their dreams, and if I could be the one to make a difference for one of them.

With a deep breath, I clicked on the 'Adopt' button. The form was straightforward – name, address, reasons for adopting. My fingers trembled as I typed, each word a step towards a decision that could change my life.

'Why do you want to adopt?' the form asked. I paused, my heart heavy. How could I explain this void, this desperate need to love and be loved?

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After a moment, I simply wrote, "To give a child the love and family they deserve, and to find healing through giving that love."

I hit 'submit,' feeling a mix of fear and hope. This was a big step, one that could bring a new beginning, or perhaps, open old wounds even more. But I knew I had to try, to find some way to cope with the loss of Lisa.

As the day of the interview at the orphanage approached, I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I was scared, not just of the interview itself, but of the possibility of being rejected.

The thought of opening up about my life, especially about losing Lisa, filled me with dread. And my psychological struggles? I couldn't bear to reveal them. What if they thought I wasn't fit to be a mother again?

I also decided not to mention that my husband, Mark, and I were living separately. It was a complicated situation, one that I didn't fully understand myself.

How could I explain it to someone else? In my mind, I rehearsed what I would say, trying to find the right words that would make me sound like a suitable parent.

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On the day of the interview, I arrived at the orphanage, a large, old building with a welcoming sign out front. My heart was pounding as I walked through the doors.

The reception area was bright and cheerful, with children's drawings on the walls. A woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile greeted me. She introduced herself as Karen, the social worker.

"Thank you for coming in today," Karen said as we sat down in her office. "Tell me a little about yourself and why you're interested in adopting."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Well, I've always loved children," I began, keeping my voice steady. "I had a daughter, but she... she passed away."

My voice cracked a little, but I quickly composed myself. "I have so much love to give, and I think I can offer a good home to a child in need."

Karen nodded, jotting down notes. She didn't press for more details about my daughter or my current living situation, for which I was grateful. We talked more about my life, my job, and how I envisioned adding a new member to my family.

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At the end of the interview, Karen smiled. "I think you'd make a wonderful mother," she said. "There's a girl, Mila, who I think you should meet. She's been waiting for a family."

The drive with Karen to the foster family's house felt like the longest journey of my life. My heart was racing with a mix of nerves and excitement.

What would Mila be like? Would she like me? A thousand questions raced through my mind as we turned into a quiet, tree-lined street.

Karen parked the car in front of a cozy-looking house with a well-kept garden. "This is it," she said with a smile. I took a deep breath to steady myself and followed her to the door.

The foster mother, a kind-faced woman, greeted us warmly and led us inside. "Mila is in the living room," she said.

My heart skipped a beat as we walked towards the room. This was it, the moment I would meet the girl who could become part of my family.

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But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. As I stepped into the room, my eyes fell on a little girl sitting on the floor, playing with a set of blocks. My world stopped. It was Lisa.

My Lisa! She looked just like her, from her curly brown hair to the way she tilted her head when she concentrated.

For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then, without thinking, I rushed over and scooped her into my arms. "Lisa!" I cried, tears streaming down my face.

The girl seemed surprised but didn't pull away. Instead, after a moment, she hugged me back and said, "Mom?"

I couldn't believe it. It was like a miracle. Karen and the foster mother exchanged confused looks, but I didn't care. My daughter, whom I thought I'd lost forever, was here in my arms.

Karen gently touched my shoulder. "Sarah, this is Mila," she said softly.

But I barely heard her. All I could focus on was the girl in my arms, my Lisa. How could it be? Had there been a mistake? A mix-up at the hospital? A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, but none of them mattered.

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All that mattered was that my daughter was here, alive.

The room was filled with a mix of emotions – my overwhelming joy, Karen's confusion, the foster mother's concern.

But for me, the world had narrowed down to the little girl in my arms, the daughter I had mourned, now miraculously returned to me.

Karen's face was a picture of shock and disbelief. She gently pulled me aside while the girl, who I knew was Lisa, continued to play quietly.

"Sarah, I understand this is very emotional, but we need to be certain about this," Karen said cautiously. "Are you absolutely sure?"

I nodded vigorously, wiping away my tears. "Yes, I'm sure. That's my Lisa. I don't need any more time to think. I'll do anything to adopt her," I said, my voice filled with a mix of determination and desperation.

Karen sighed softly, her eyes filled with concern. "Okay, but we have to follow the proper procedures. You'll need to provide all the necessary documents to prove that she is your daughter. We have to be absolutely certain before we can proceed."

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I felt a surge of hope mixed with anxiety. "I understand. I'll get everything, every single document you need,"

I assured her, my mind already racing through the papers I had at home - birth certificates, photographs, anything that could prove Lisa was mine.

"And," Karen added, "we'll also need the presence of the girl's father. It's important for both parents to be involved in such cases."

My heart sank a little at the mention of Mark, my estranged husband. We hadn't been on the best of terms since Lisa's death, but this was about our daughter. I was determined to do whatever it took to bring her back home.

"I'll talk to him," I said, though the thought of convincing Mark filled me with dread. But for Lisa, I would face any challenge.

I left the foster home with a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me was elated at the thought of having Lisa back, while another part was anxious about the upcoming challenges.

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I had to gather the documents, speak to Mark, and convince the child welfare service. It felt like a daunting task, but the thought of holding Lisa in my arms again, of bringing her home where she belonged, gave me the strength I needed.

When I arrived at Damon's apartment, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear my own thoughts. He opened the door, and his expression was a mix of surprise and confusion.

We hadn't seen each other much since we started living separately. The air between us was heavy with unspoken words and shared grief.

"Damon, I have something incredible to tell you," I started, my voice trembling with urgency.

He led me into the living room, his eyes never leaving my face. "Sarah, what's going on? You look... different."

I took a deep breath, gathering all my courage. "Damon, it's about Lisa. She's alive."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. "Sarah, are you taking your medication? You know Lisa is gone."

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I shook my head vigorously, feeling a surge of frustration. "No, listen to me. I saw her, Damon. Our daughter is alive. She's at a foster home. We just need to prove she's ours and we can bring her home."

Damon's skepticism was palpable. He paced the room, running his hands through his hair, a sign of his anxiety. "Sarah, this is... this is impossible. We buried Lisa."

"But it wasn't her! It was a mistake. Damon, you have to believe me. Please," I pleaded, my eyes welling up with tears.

He stopped pacing and looked at me, his expression softening a bit. "Sarah, if this means so much to you, I'll come. But we need to be prepared for the truth, whatever it may be."

Relief washed over me. Having Damon by my side made me feel stronger, more hopeful. "Thank you," I whispered. "We need to show them our documents, photos, everything that can prove she's our Lisa."

Damon nodded slowly, still clearly doubtful but willing to support me. "Okay, Sarah. We'll do this together."

As we left his apartment, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could be a family again.

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But deep down, I could feel the uncertainty and fear lurking, the possibility that my heart could be broken all over again. But for Lisa, I was ready to face anything.

The drive to the child welfare service with Damon was filled with a nervous energy. My mind raced with what I would say, how I would convince them. But nothing prepared me for the shock that awaited us.

As we entered the service office, a sense of unease settled over me. Karen greeted us and led us to a small meeting room. The air was tense, heavy with anticipation. I clutched the documents tightly in my hands, proof that Lisa was my daughter.

But when I presented them, Karen's expression turned sympathetic yet firm. "I'm sorry, Sarah," she said gently, "but these documents don't change our stance.

According to our records and the information we have on Mila, she is not your daughter."

I felt like the ground had been pulled from under my feet. "That can't be," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I know my own daughter. How can you say she's not Lisa?"

Karen sighed, her eyes filled with empathy. "I understand this is hard, but the girl has her own history, her own documents that don't match with yours. We have to trust our records."

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I looked at Damon, seeking support, but his face was a mask of skepticism and concern. "Sarah, maybe we should talk about this," he said softly.

But I was adamant. "No, I won't accept this. She is Lisa. I know it in my heart. How can you all be so blind?"

The room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on us. Karen reached out, placing a hand on mine. "I know you believe that, but we have to consider the facts. I'm really sorry."

I felt a mixture of frustration and despair. How could they not see what was so clear to me? I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

"This isn't right," I said, my voice filled with a mix of anger and sorrow. "You're keeping a mother away from her daughter."

Damon put his arm around me as we left the office, trying to offer comfort. But his touch felt distant, his skepticism like a barrier between us.

The ride home was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and shattered hopes. I was determined, more than ever, to prove them wrong, to bring my daughter back home where she belonged.

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The ride back home was a blur of anger and confusion. I couldn't believe what had just happened. How could they not see that Mila was Lisa? It felt like a cruel joke, a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from.

I remember looking out the car window, the world passing by in a haze. My thoughts were racing, a whirlwind of frustration and despair. And then, something inside me just snapped.

I couldn't hold back the flood of emotions any longer. I screamed, my voice raw with pain, pounding my fists against the dashboard. "They're wrong, Damon! They have to be!"

Damon, his face etched with worry, pulled the car over. He reached over and gently took my hands in his. "Sarah, please, calm down," he said, his voice a soothing balm in the chaos of my emotions. "We need to think this through."

But how could I think when my daughter was out there, separated from me? "We need to do something," I insisted, my voice trembling. "We can't just sit back and accept this."

Damon sighed, running his hands through his hair, a sign of his frustration. "Sarah, I know this is hard, but we have to be rational."

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I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could he doubt me? How could he doubt our daughter? "I'm not wrong, Damon. I know it. I feel it in my heart."

He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at me with sad, tired eyes. Then, he reached into his pocket and handed me a small bottle of pills – the new medication my doctor had prescribed. "Please, take these. They'll help you."

I took the bottle, my hands shaking. I pretended to swallow a pill, but I didn't need them. I wasn't crazy. I was a mother fighting for her child. As we drove back home, I sat in silence, my mind racing with plans.

I had to prove them wrong. I had to find a way to bring my daughter back home. Damon didn't understand, but that didn't matter. I would do whatever it took. For Lisa. For us.

I was at my wit's end, feeling like the world was against me. In a last desperate attempt, I called the police, hoping they would understand, that they would see the truth. My hands trembled as I dialed the number, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Police department, how can I help you?" came the voice on the other end.

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I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "Hello, I need your help. My daughter, she's alive.

She's at the child welfare service, and they won't believe me. They think she's another girl," I explained, the words rushing out in a frantic torrent.

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, somewhat cautiously, "Ma'am, have you spoken to the child welfare service about this?"

"Yes, yes, I have! But they won't listen to me. They think I'm wrong, but I'm not. I'm her mother. I know my own daughter," I pleaded, my voice tinged with desperation.

Another pause, then the officer's voice returned, calm but firm. "Ma'am, I understand this is a difficult situation.

But this is a matter for the child welfare service. They are the best equipped to handle such cases. I would advise you to work with them to establish the identity of the girl."

I felt a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over me. "But you don't understand," I said, my voice breaking. "They're not listening to me. They don't believe me."

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"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's not much we can do in this situation. It's best to cooperate with the child welfare service," the officer replied.

Feeling defeated, I ended the call. The police couldn't help me, and the child welfare service wouldn't believe me.

I felt trapped, with nowhere to turn. The walls of my world seemed to be closing in on me, leaving me feeling more alone and desperate than ever.

The day after my visit to Lisa's foster family, I found myself standing outside her school. My heart was pounding, my palms sweaty with nerves.

This was a big risk, but I had to see her again, had to be near her. I walked up to the school's main office, rehearsing what I would say.

Inside, I approached the receptionist. "Hello, I'm here to pick up Lisa," I said, trying to sound confident.

The receptionist looked at me, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "And you are?"

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"I'm her guardian," I replied quickly. "There's been a family emergency."

She hesitated, then called for Lisa's teacher. A few moments later, a young woman with kind eyes came to the front. "Can I help you?" she asked.

I repeated my story, my voice shaking slightly. "I'm here to pick up Li.. Mila. It's urgent."

The teacher looked at me, her expression skeptical. "I wasn't informed of any guardian coming today. Do you have any identification?"

Before I could answer, the door to the classroom opened, and there she was. Lisa – or the girl I knew was Lisa. She saw me and her face lit up. "Mom!" she called, running towards me.

The teacher's skepticism vanished, replaced by concern. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. Yes, of course, you can take her."

With a heart full of joy and relief, I took Lisa's hand, and we left the school together. As we walked, I couldn't stop looking at her, at my daughter. She chatted away about her day, oblivious to the turmoil inside me.

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Everything else faded away in that moment– doubts, fears, and skepticism from others. It was just Lisa and me, mother and daughter, reunited at last.

The world outside, with its rules and its disbelief, didn't matter. All that mattered was that I had found my daughter again, and I was not going to let her go.

With my heart pounding with both excitement and fear, I hurriedly led Lisa to my car. Once inside, I quickly started the engine, glancing nervously around. I wanted this moment to be perfect, to feel like old times.

So, I turned on the radio and found her favorite song, the one she used to sing all the time. It was a cheerful, catchy tune that had always filled our home with her laughter.

"Remember this, sweetie?" I asked with a hopeful smile, looking at Lisa through the rearview mirror.

But as the song played, Lisa just stared out the window, silent and confused. She didn't hum along or tap her feet to the rhythm like she used to.

It was as if she didn't recognize the song at all. My heart sank a little. "You used to sing this all the time, Lisa," I prompted gently.

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Lisa just shrugged, a puzzled look on her face. I felt a twinge of worry. Why didn't she remember? Maybe the trauma of the accident had affected her more than I realized.

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I decided to gently prod her memory. "Do you remember when we went to the beach last summer? You sang this song the whole way there," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

But before Lisa could respond, my attention was suddenly drawn to the rearview mirror. My heart skipped a beat as I saw police cars heading towards the school we had just left. Panic surged through me. They were coming for me! For us!

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my mind racing. "They want to take you away from me, Lisa," I whispered, more to myself than to her. I couldn't let that happen. I had to protect her, keep her with me.

Hiding in the woods felt like something out of a movie, not my life. The trees loomed tall and dark around us, making me feel small and lost.

I had my phone clutched tightly in my hand, having just called Damon. My voice shook as I spoke to him.

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"Damon, please, you have to come and get us. They're looking for me, for us. We need to get away," I pleaded into the phone, my eyes darting around the shadowy woods.

There was a pause on the other end before Damon's voice came through, filled with worry and confusion. "Sarah, what's going on? Where are you?"

I tried to explain, but my words were a jumbled mess. "We're in the woods outside the city. Please, Damon, you have to help us."

I could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Okay, okay, I'm coming. Just stay where you are and stay safe."

After the call, I turned to Lisa, who sat huddled beside me, her small face pale and scared in the dim light. "Lisa, do you remember anything? Anything about us, about your past?" I asked gently, hoping for a glimmer of recognition.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and frightened. "I don't know you," she whispered.

"But at the foster home, you called me 'mom'," I said, my voice trembling with hope and confusion.

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Lisa looked down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I just wanted a family," she admitted quietly. "I thought if I said that, you would adopt me. But I didn't know all this would happen. I'm scared."

Sitting there in the woods, with the darkness enveloping us, my mind raced with possibilities. What if the real reason Lisa didn't remember me was because of the trauma from the car accident?

It made sense in my frantic mind. Trauma can do strange things to a person, especially a child. Maybe it was so severe that she had blocked out all her memories, including me, her own mother.

I clung to this thought, this sliver of hope, as I held the girl close to me. She was shivering, either from cold or fear, and I wrapped my arms tighter around her, trying to offer some semblance of protection and comfort.

"I know this is scary," I whispered to her, more to myself than to her. "But when Damon gets here, we'll be a family again. You'll see, everything will be okay. You'll remember. You have to."

The girl looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. "Are you really my mom?" she asked, her voice small and fragile in the darkness.

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. "Yes, yes, I am. And soon, you'll remember everything about us, about our life together."

I tried to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince her. The waiting felt endless, every minute stretching out like an hour.

I kept straining my ears for the sound of Damon's car, but all I heard was the rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of the night.

As we huddled together in the darkness, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the eerie silence of the woods. My heart raced with anticipation, hoping it was Damon.

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But instead, the beam of flashlights pierced through the darkness, and voices of the police officers rang out, shattering my hope.

"Sarah, we know you're here. Please come out," one of the officers called out.

I held the girl tightly, fear gripping my heart. "They're here to take you away from me," I whispered to her, my voice trembling. "But I won't let them. You're my daughter, and I'll protect you."

The girl looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear. Before I could say anything more, the police were upon us. Their flashlights blinded me, and their voices were a jumble of commands and reassurances.

"Sarah, we need you to come with us. It's for your own safety," an officer said, reaching out to me.

One of the officers gently but firmly took the girl from my arms. "It's okay, we'll take care of her," he assured me.

Another officer approached me with a syringe. "Sarah, we need to calm you down. It's for your own good," he said softly.

I struggled, but it was no use. I felt the prick of the needle and almost immediately, my limbs started to feel heavy. My vision blurred, and the sounds around me became distant. I tried to fight the sedative, but it was too strong.

As my consciousness slipped away, my last thought was of my daughter. "Lisa," I whispered, reaching out to her, but she was no longer there. The world went dark, and I succumbed to the darkness, the fear and desperation fading into nothingness.

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I slowly opened my eyes, the bright lights of the hospital room stinging my vision. My mind was foggy, struggling to piece together what had happened. Then, in a rush, it all came back to me - the police, the sedative, the desperate fear for Lisa.

Panic surged through me as I turned to see Damon sitting beside my bed, his face etched with worry and sadness. "Where's Lisa!?" I cried out, my voice hoarse and frantic.

I tried to sit up, to go to her, but my hands were restrained, tied to the bed. The realization sent me into a frenzy. "Why am I tied up? What's going on? Where is my daughter?" I screamed, struggling against the restraints.

Damon reached out, his hand gently touching mine. "Sarah, calm down. You need to relax," he said softly, trying to soothe me.

But his words were lost in the storm of my panic. Doctors rushed into the room, their faces a blur as they spoke in calming tones, trying to reassure me. But all I could think about was Lisa. Where was she? Why wasn't she here with me?

Tears streamed down my face as I looked at Damon, begging him with my eyes for answers. He took my hand, holding it tightly.

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"Sarah, you need to calm down. We'll talk about everything, but you need to be calm," he said, his voice filled with a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite place.

As the sedative they had given me started to wear off, my mind slowly began to clear, but the panic and fear remained.

Lying there in the hospital bed, I could see the sadness and fear in Damon's eyes. It was a look I had never seen before, one that made my heart ache. Tears were streaming down his face, and in that moment, I realized they were because of me, because of what I had become.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry," Damon's voice was choked with emotion. "You're very ill. I've tried everything to help you, but it just got too much. I had to involve the police for your own safety."

His words hit me like a tidal wave. How could he do this to me? What about our daughter, Lisa? My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger. "How could you hand me over to the police?" I exclaimed, my voice trembling with outrage. "What about Lisa? We need to find her!"

Damon held my hand, his grip firm but gentle. "Sarah, I know this is hard to hear, but Lisa... she's gone. We lost her in the accident. You've been... you've been seeing her where she isn't."

I shook my head vehemently, refusing to believe his words. "No, that's not true! She's out there, Damon! We have to find her!" I cried out, the desperation clear in my voice.

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Damon's face crumpled, his own pain evident. "I wish that were true, Sarah. But we have to face reality. I'm here for you, we'll get through this together."

My mind refused to accept it, even as a part of me wondered if his words held a truth I wasn't ready to face. The room felt like it was spinning, my emotions a tangled mess of grief, confusion, and disbelief.

As I lay there in the hospital bed, still reeling from Damon's words, the doctors came in.

They looked at me with eyes full of sympathy, which only made my heart race with apprehension. One of them, a kind-looking man with a gentle voice, began to explain.

"Sarah, your daughter Lisa passed away in the car accident last year. It was a tragic event, and it's not uncommon for such a loss to deeply affect a parent," he said softly.

I felt a chill run down my spine. "But I saw her, she was alive," I protested weakly, clinging to the belief that had kept me going.

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The doctor continued, "The pain of losing Lisa was so profound that your mind found a way to cope by creating an alternate reality. You developed a condition known as schizophrenia. It made you believe that Lisa was still alive."

I shook my head, unable to accept his words. "No, that can't be. I know what I saw. I know my own daughter," I whispered, the room spinning around me.

The doctor gently placed some documents on my bedside table. "These are the records of Lisa's passing and the official documents of the girl you believed to be Lisa.

They're not the same person. The girl, Mila, she doesn't have any memories of you because she never met you before."

I looked at the documents, the evidence laid out in front of me. It was all there, black on white, undeniable. Yet, my heart refused to accept it. How could my mind betray me like this? How could it fabricate such a vivid, comforting lie?

"My brain played a cruel joke on me," I murmured, the realization sinking in like a heavy stone. Tears streamed down my face as the truth hit me. I had lost my daughter, and in my grief, I had lost myself too.

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The world felt cold and harsh, a stark contrast to the warm, comforting illusion my mind had created. I lay there, the weight of reality pressing down on me, feeling more lost and alone than ever before.

A month had gone by since I woke up in the hospital, and Damon had been visiting me regularly. Seeing him walk into the room always brought a mix of emotions.

I had completed my treatment, and thankfully, the nightmares that used to haunt my sleep were gone. I felt more grounded, more in touch with reality.

During one of his visits, I looked at Damon and said, "I think I'm ready to leave this place, to try and live a normal life again." I could see the relief in his eyes, but also a hint of uncertainty.

"I know things can't go back to how they were," I continued, a bit of sadness in my voice. "Maybe we'll never be a family in the way we were before. But, can we start over? Maybe as friends?"

Damon nodded, a small smile on his face. "I think we can try, Sarah. Let's take it one step at a time."

I felt a glimmer of hope hearing those words. Starting anew wouldn't be easy, but maybe, just maybe, we could find a new way forward, together yet apart.

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