After hours of confusion and worry, the doctor at the dispensary finally told Hannah she was stable enough to go back home. Rachel stayed close by her side the whole time, refusing to leave her friend alone in pain.
"Hannah," Rachel whispered as they walked out of the small dispensary, "we'll figure this out. You're not alone."
Hannah nodded weakly, but her eyes were red from crying. Her heart still ached, her thoughts spinning in circles. "Where is Ella? Who has her? Is she safe?"
When they reached the house, the silence hit harder than ever. The little place that usually carried Ella's laughter now felt heavy and empty. Hannah stepped inside slowly, her feet dragging. She looked around as if hoping Ella might suddenly appear.
Rachel touched her shoulder gently. "Let's rest for now. Tomorrow we will decide what to do. We will find her, Hannah."
Hannah sat down on her bed, clutching the small blanket that belonged to Ella. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, almost to herself: "My baby… where are you? Who's holding you tonight? I swear, I will find you."
Rachel sat beside her, holding her tightly, silently promising herself the same thing.
Night settled in when David came home from work, his arms full—bags of shoes, bright new clothes, and even toys. His face carried a rare, glowing smile, the kind that revealed how excited he was.
"These are for Felicity," he said warmly, setting everything down on the table.
Victoria forced a polite smile, nodding as if she shared his joy. But inside, her heart tightened.
"So many shoes , new clothes, toys… for a child who isn't even ours? We already have Isabelle, our daughter. Yet he brought all these things for a street child and why does he treat her like this!"
She didn't speak her thoughts aloud. Instead, she quietly helped him put things away, hiding her unease behind silence. But within her, doubts stirred.
"Why, David? Why he brought another girl here and cover her with so much love, as if Isabelle isn't enough?"
The house filled with gifts for Felicity that night—but not with peace.
After a while the dinner was ready they all went at the dining room . The dinning room was quiet except for the clinking of cutlery. David sat at the head of the table, eating quickly, his eyes fixed on his plate. Victoria sat opposite him, her face calm on the surface, though her heart was heavy. Beside her, little Isabelle tried to talk about her day, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of Felicity's soft whimpers.
The girl sat on a chair too big for her small body, her food untouched. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and every now and then she called faintly, "Mommy… Mom…" The word tore through Victoria like a knife.
Victoria put down her fork, looking at David.
"David, can't you see?" she said quietly, almost pleading. "She doesn't belong here. She keeps calling for her mother. Let's do the right thing. Let's go to the police tomorrow and report this child, so her family can be found."
For a moment, David didn't respond. He just chewed slowly, his jaw tightening, his face unreadable. Then, without lifting his eyes, he spoke with a sharp edge.
"I told you already—Felicity is not leaving this house. She belongs here . She's ours now. End of discussion."
His voice carried finality, making Isabelle go silent. The little girl lowered her spoon and stared nervously between her parents.
Victoria's chest tightened, but she forced herself to stay composed. She looked at Felicity, who was now resting her head on the table, still whispering for her mother.
She then looked at David, her voice firm though her heart raced.
"How can you say she belongs here, David," she asked bitterly, "when you picked her up from the street?.
David dropped his fork with a sharp clink against the plate. His jaw clenched, and he met Victoria's gaze for the first time that night.
"I don't want to argue with you, Victoria," he said in a low but heavy voice. "I have no more explanations to give you. Felicity stays here. That's final."
The room went cold. Isabelle stared at them both, wide-eyed, sensing the tension she could not yet understand. Felicity whimpered again, whispering for her mother, her tiny voice cutting through the silence like a wound no one could heal.
Victoria's chest burned with words she wanted to shout, but she swallowed them back. She only shook her head slowly, her thoughts screaming inside: "This is not our child. This is not our truth."
Without another word, David pushed back his chair with force, stood up, and left the table. His heavy footsteps echoed as he made his way to the bedroom. The sound of the door shutting carried the weight of his stubbornness.
Victoria sighed deeply after David stormed off to their bedroom. She stood up from the table and looked at the two little girls—Isabelle, her own blood, and Felicity, the child she still could not accept. Both looked small, fragile, and undeserving of the storm between the adults.
With a heavy heart, she walked around the table, bent down, and held their tiny hands.
"Come," she whispered softly, "it's time to sleep."
She led them to Isabelle's room and carefully tucked them both into bed. She stayed for a moment, watching them settle under the covers, making sure they were safe. Her chest felt tight, but she forced a small smile at them before quietly stepping out, closing the door gently behind her.
The room fell quiet, only the sound of Felicity's soft sniffles filling the air. She turned to her side, her little eyes wet with tears. Isabelle, only four years old, shuffled closer, her innocence shining through the darkness.
"Don't cry," Isabelle whispered, reaching out to hold Felicity's hand. "I'm your sister now. We will play together every day."
Her voice was warm, comforting in a way only a child's could be. Felicity blinked at her, her sobs softening little by little as she listened.
"You don't have to be afraid," Isabelle added with a shy smile. "You have me. We'll always be together."
Felicity's tears slowed, and for the first time that night, she felt a small bit of peace.