One evening, Mia spoke up and insisted that her late mother had been paying her a visit at school. I dismissed her statement, assuming it was just a child’s way of letting go. However, I sensed something was wrong that I couldn’t explain when she started bringing home chocolates I hadn’t packed and her paintings of her mother started to look uncannily like her.
Even though Elizabeth passed away two years ago, there are still days when I half expect to see her arrive at the door. so’s typical, I suppose, when you lose someone you love so deeply. However, I had no idea what would happen to Mia. How, after all, could I?
For us, Elizabeth was everything: a devoted wife and a fantastic mother. She and Mia shared a special link that made them inseparable; they were like two parts of the same heart, always laughing and playing together.
It’s been difficult every day without her, but I’ve made an effort to keep going for Mia even when the emptiness feels too great.
My five-year-old daughter and I were gradually adjusting to life after her death until one day, she confidently declared, “Mommy visits me at school,” which caught me completely off guard.
She held a painting in her tiny hands and glanced up at me, her wide eyes filled with assurance. “She gave me chocolate today.”
My heart skipped a beat. My wife Elizabeth, who was also Mia’s mother, had passed away two years prior. It was cancer and it happened quickly. Too quickly. Mia seemed too young, in my opinion, to truly comprehend. However, after hearing her say that, I was at a loss for words.
I tried to remain calm as I whispered, “Sweetheart, Mommy’s gone.” “She can’t—”
“She can,” Mia interrupted, her tiny chin protruding in a defiant manner. “She speaks with me following recess. Daddy, she observes me playing.”
I initially assumed it was just her coping mechanism, you know? Imagining what was missing and filling it in. However, the drawings began to arrive at home. Mia and her mother are shown in image after picture cuddling, having fun on the playground, and enjoying the swings.
She didn’t just draw stick figures, however; Elizabeth had this strange detail. Elizabeth’s lovely eyes, her long chestnut hair, and her blue clothing from before all come to mind.
The chocolates came next. Every few days, Mia would pack her backpack and return home with these tiny, perfectly wrapped chocolates. When I verified with the school, they didn’t know either that I hadn’t packed them.
I began to have sleep problems. Attempting to make sense of everything, I would lie awake every night and stare at the ceiling. I finally came to the conclusion that I had to stop ignoring it. I gave Mia’s school a call.
“Is there someone who’s been interacting with Mia?” Shaking my voice, I questioned.
Mrs. Blake, her teacher, hesitated on the other end. “Mr. Carter, I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, but… yes. There’s a woman who’s been talking to Mia at school. And outside, when school lets out.”
My heart fell. “What does she look like?”
A protracted silence ensued. “She resembles Elizabeth, your wife. I’ve made an effort to get close to her, but she always leaves before I can. It’s uncomfortable; I’m not sure what’s going on.”
I was taken aback. I was at a loss for words or ideas. How is this possible to be occurring? This woman, who was she?
I had a terrible time sleeping that night. My thoughts were filled with inquiries for which I lacked answers. I made up my mind to find out for myself. I arrived at school early the following day and hid by the playground while I waited for this mysterious woman to show up.
Mia emerged with the other children, running toward the swings while her laughter filled the air. And then I spotted her—a woman standing by the fence, watching Mia.
Even from a distance, I could tell that she was wearing a large coat and a wide-brimmed hat, which covered her face.
I inhaled deeply and moved forward, my heart racing. She spun around and ran as soon as she saw me. But I was ready for that. I pursued her until I had her surrounded close to the rear of the playground.
“Who are you?” I demanded, out of breath, my hands shaking. “Why are you doing this?”
My heart stopped when the woman turned slowly and eventually faced me. Though she might have been older, her face and eyes were precisely the same as Elizabeth’s.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she replied, her voice faltering. “My name is Angelina.”
I blinked as I tried to take it all in. “Angelina? Elizabeth never brought up—”
Angelina quieted herself and whispered, “She didn’t know,” her eyes full with sorrow. “I’m her twin sister.”
My thoughts raced. “That isn’t feasible. Elizabeth was not a sibling.”
Angelina said, “She didn’t know,” her voice brimming with passion. “I was unaware until lately. A dishonest nurse sold me to another family after we were born. They said that I had passed away, but in reality, I was taken.”
I staggered back as my brain tried to absorb what she had said. An identical twin? Did Elizabeth have a twin?
Angelina said, “I didn’t know either,” “as tears ran down her face. But I discovered historical medical documents. That’s how I became aware of Elizabeth.as well as Mia and you.”
Still in shock, I looked at her. “But why…why pretend to be her mother?”
Angelina broke down, sobbing. “I lost my daughter,” she said between gasps. “She was only seven. A bus accident. Mia…she looks so much like her. And when I saw her at the park that first time, she called me ‘Mommy.’ I couldn’t say no. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
A thick grief took the place of my confusion and rage. Though her mourning was distinct from mine. However, this had to end.
“I will inform her,” Angelina muttered. “I’ll reveal my true identity to Mia. That is what I owe her.”
My heart was pounding when we sat down with Mia the following day. With a soft yet quivering voice, Angelina spoke first.
Angelina began quietly, “Mia, sweetie,” tears gathering in her eyes.
Mia’s expression brightened. “Mommy, did you miss me? Is it the reason you returned? Daddy didn’t trust me when I told him.”
Angelina’s breath hitched, and she reached out, taking Mia’s tiny hand. “Oh, Mia,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m not your mommy. I’m her sister, your Aunt Angelina. I’m so sorry if I made you think—”
Mia’s brow wrinkled as she looked from us to us. Confused but not giving up, she said, “But you look like Mommy, and you… you gave me chocolates.”
With a nod, Angelina let her tears finally fall. “Mia, I’m very sorry; I know I do. It was never my intention to act like your mother. I simply… Your smile brought me great joy, and I was thrilled that you desired to spend time with me.”
Mia looked up at me, looking for answers in my eyes. “Daddy, is she really my aunt?”
I squeezed her hand gently, my voice thick with emotion. “Yes, sweetheart. Angelina is your mommy’s twin sister. We didn’t know about her before, but she’s part of our family.”
Mia turned to face Angelina, her expression still contorted with contemplation. “So… you’re not coming to school anymore?”
In response, Angelina said in a shaky voice, “Mia, I won’t be acting like your mommy anymore. However, as your aunt, I would dearly desire to be in your life. I can still see you be incredible as your aunt, and we can still play.”
Mia nodded slowly as she tried to take everything in. She said in a murmur, “Okay,” accepting in the way that only a child can, but she was still unsure.
After that, Angelina remained in our lives, but she did so in a different way: as an aunt, a friend, and a member of our family that we were unaware we needed.
Mia saw a kind presence in her, and I discovered someone who could relate to my loss better than anybody else. We started to mend together, reassembling our broken history into something fresh.
