ILYAS
My gaze connected with hers. She was holding her breath.
“She is not my daughter.”
I don’t think I ever knew what relief was until I saw her exhale loudly. She had a hand against her chest, right where her heart is. Maybe this was too much as a shock for her, just as much as it was for me. Though, I knew for sure Mawra wasn’t my daughter.
“But I still love Mawra,” I confessed. “She might not be my daughter, but I love her.” Memories flashed through my eyes: When Mawra was born, I was there in the hospital. When she opened her eyes, I was there to look into them. When she cried, I was there to sing her to sleep.
“You know, I told myself no matter how much it hurt to know you didn’t tell me about Mawra, I would accept her. I even considered of forcing you to start spending time
