Rachel didn't understand how it had happened. She had been driving to the salon when that frantic woman with the stroller darted out from behind the bushes.
A dull thud and the sound of a baby crying—that was all she remembered. For three days, she lived in a total stupor. She didn't even care if she went to prison. Her husband took charge of everything. It was Mark who hired the high-powered lawyers and pushed for the toxicology report that proved the young mother had been intoxicated.
Now, Rachel was looking at probation. But the "catch" was the victim's grandmother. It was her testimony that would determine how the court viewed the woman who had struck the stroller.
"What are you doing here?" the old woman greeted them bitterly.
"Mrs. Lewis, we wanted to talk," Mark began.
"Talk about what?" she snapped. "You left that poor girl an orphan and a cripple!"
"We'll pay for the medical expenses," Mark continued smoothly.
"No, you take her! Take the poor thing yourself!"
Rachel froze. Take a stranger's child? A child with who-knows-what kind of background?
That evening, she and her husband talked for a long time. Mark approached the situation with his usual cold, business-like cynicism.
"We take the girl for a couple of years until the dust settles. We'll hire a nanny. Then, we can put her up for adoption."
"She's not a dog, Mark! You don't just take her and then give her away!" Rachel argued.
"Do you want to go to jail?"
There seemed to be no other way out, and Rachel eventually agreed.
***
It was clear that little Lauren hadn't been pampered at home. Limping slightly, the girl timidly entered the house. Inside Rachel, pity battled with resentment. It was unbearable to look at the girl and be reminded that she had killed someone, yet she felt a deep ache for this quiet, broken child.
After a few years, Rachel grew used to Lauren following her around the house like a shadow, hugging her in the morning and kissing her goodnight. Then, quite suddenly, Rachel discovered she was pregnant, despite years of doctors telling her it was impossible.
Mark was overjoyed. The neighbors in their gated community whispered amongst themselves.
"She took in an orphan, and God blessed her with a child of her own!"
Rachel's biological daughter, Megan, grew up to be a true beauty. Consumed with caring for Megan, Rachel often forgot about her "foster" child. Lauren never complained, quietly doing chores around the house, watching over little Megan, and helping out in the kitchen.
"Mom, I want to go to culinary school," Lauren announced one evening.
Rachel and Mark traded a glance.
This was probably the best outcome for the girl. Unlike Megan, she didn't exactly shine when it came to brains or beauty. Her foster parents breathed a sigh of relief and sent Lauren off to Chicago to train as a chef.
They supported her financially, of course, but Rachel's entire focus was on Megan. The girl was finding great success as a model, and mother and daughter were constantly on the road for shows. Rachel hardly ever thought about Lauren.
***
Then Mark died. Suddenly. A heart attack. Megan was in Italy at the time and didn't even fly home for the funeral. It was Lauren who did her best to comfort Rachel.
The final blow for Rachel was the sale of their estate. It turned out that Mark's business hadn't been doing well in recent years, and a mountain of debt had piled up.
"Mom, you can move in with me," Lauren urged. "I have an apartment in the city. We'll make it work."
"I don't want to be a burden, honey. I'll go stay with Megan."
Rachel wasn't being entirely honest. After a life of luxury, she didn't want to end up in a cramped city apartment. She expected her biological daughter to provide her with a comfortable retirement. After all, she had invested so much in her.
***
For a couple of years, Lauren barely heard from her foster mother. For another year, they exchanged occasional calls, but more and more often Megan would pick up the phone, saying "Mom's not feeling well" or "Mom's sleeping." Lauren began calling only on holidays. She was opening her own café, and there was no time for anything else.
Eventually, Megan's modeling agency came to Chicago for a major show.
"Let me through! I'm Megan Thorne's sister!" a heavy-set woman with a limp tried to push her way into the dressing room.
The security guards just laughed. This woman with thinning hair was the sister of the beautiful Megan Thorne?
But the woman rushed toward the model.
"Megan! Sis! I baked you some turnovers! I know how much you used to love them!"
"Get out," Megan hissed. "Don't embarrass me. We'll talk tonight."
"Is that really your sister?" the other models asked, bewildered.
"Please. Just some crazy fan," Megan brushed it off.
That evening, she stopped by Lauren's café.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" the beauty snapped at her foster sister the moment she walked in.
"Megan, don't be angry. I just wanted to see you... and find out how Mom is."
"Mom is in a facility. She's always complaining about her blood pressure, and I have shows. She needs professional care."
"What do you mean, a facility? You mean a nursing home?"
"Call it whatever you want. She's better off there."
***
Lauren hardly recognized the frail, somber old woman as her once-proud, beautiful mother. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to the woman's side.
"Mom, oh honey, how did this happen? Why didn't you tell me? We're leaving right now!"
And Rachel wept—out of shame. Because she had failed to see the massive, loving heart inside the quiet girl with the limp.
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