My hands shook so hard that I could barely hold the documents steady. I stared at the picture of the girl clipped to the page.She was seven years old now. Her hair was pulled back into two little pigtails. When she smiled, two shallow dimples graced her cheeks.I could see the clear resemblance between us.Tears I thought had long dried up came surging back.My Millie.My daughter. She was alive.She was actually alive.The lawyer and I traveled for over ten hours by train and several more by car before we finally arrived at a remote suburb.In the front yard of a modest farmhouse, I saw my daughter. She was feeding chickens in the yard while humming a song that wasn't quite in tune. When her adoptive parents saw us, they tensed up, pulling the girl protectively behind them."Who are you, people? What do you want?"The lawyer stepped forward and spent a long time explaining the situation. At first, they resisted and were in denial. Later, they fell silent and began to
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