There was a disturbed woman who kept repeating to Élise that she was her real mother. Every time Élise came home from school with her friends, the scene played out again…
Every afternoon, Élise and her two best friends, Léa and Julien, took the same route: they walked down Maple Street, passed the Cozy Corner bakery, then crossed Old Castle Park where, without fail, a woman in torn clothes sat on the same bench.
Most of the time, she muttered incoherent words while clutching a worn-out teddy bear. But one day, as Élise walked past her, the woman suddenly jumped up and shouted:
— Élise! Élise, it’s me! I’m your real mother!
The children froze. Léa whispered softly:
— Ignore her…
They hurried away, laughing nervously. All of them except Élise. She wasn’t laughing. A strange pressure tightened in her chest, and the woman’s voice kept echoing in her mind.
From that day on, the scene repeated itself daily. The woman called her by name—sometimes pleading, sometimes screaming at the top of her lungs. The teachers explained that she was just a homeless woman from the neighborhood, mentally fragile. Élise’s adoptive parents, François and Sophie Moreau, ordered her to keep her distance.
— She’s dangerous, sweetheart, Sophie said, holding her tightly. Don’t ever go near her.
Yet in the silence of the night, Élise couldn’t chase the thoughts away. How did this stranger know her name? And above all… how could she know about the tiny mole behind her ear—a detail no one ever mentioned?
Then, one rainy afternoon, as Élise crossed the park, her notebook slipped from her hands and fell into a puddle. The woman bent down and picked it up before she could.
— You have your father’s eyes, she murmured, handing the notebook back to her. They told me you were dead…
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Élise returned home soaked and trembling.
“Mama…” she whispered. “That woman… she knew everything. Even about my mole.”
Sophie shivered. François lowered his eyes. A heavy silence filled the house.
After a long moment, Sophie sighed.
“Élise… there are things we’ve never told you.”
“We adopted you when you were two years old. The agency said your mother… was ill. She left you at a shelter.”
Élise’s breath caught.
“So she’s real… that woman…”
“She’s sick,” Sophie added quickly. “Don’t believe everything she says.”
Élise’s curiosity won out. The next day, alone, she returned to the park. Claire was there, sitting under the same tree, clutching her teddy bear.
As Élise approached, Claire’s eyes filled with tears.
“They told me you were lost,” she whispered. “I spent years looking for you. I wasn’t crazy… I was grieving.”
She held out a faded photo: a young woman with shining eyes holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket—the same one Élise still kept.
“Listen to me,” Claire breathed. “Just listen…”
In the weeks that followed, Élise secretly met with Claire. Every detail—the lullaby, the scar on her knee, the name “Star”—matched her memories.
At last, Élise confronted her adoptive parents.
“You said she abandoned me… but that’s not true, is it?”
François’s eyes filled with remorse.
“We didn’t know the whole story,” he admitted. “Your mother had an accident and was in a coma for months. The system declared you abandoned before she woke up. When she regained consciousness… it was too late. We were never able to say goodbye.”
Sophie collapsed.
“We were afraid of losing you…”
Élise remained silent, torn between gratitude and pain. The next day, she brought Claire home.
Sophie hesitated, then opened her arms and held Claire tightly. For the first time, Élise saw her two mothers—the one who gave her life and the one who fought to raise her. They cried together in her arms.
The “crazy woman” from the park was no longer a stranger. She was her mother—the one who had never stopped looking for her.
