“Mom,” I repeated again, my voice trembling in the quiet, sterile room. I saw her entire body tense up at the sound. Slowly, she started to turn around to face me. She looked just the same as the picture Lucien had shown me in the car, only a bit older now, with faint wrinkles tracing the corners of her eyes and mouth. I watched her face circle through multiple emotions in a matter of seconds—confusion, disbelief, and shock—before finally settling into a profound sadness. “Angelica,” she whispered. The name came out so softly it was barely a breath. “Angelica, my baby.” She walked toward me on unsteady feet, her eyes instantly glossing over with tears. She reached out, her hands trembling as her fingers brushed against my face, tracing my features as if she were trying to see if I was real or just a ghost. Before I could say anything, she leaned in and pulled me into a tight hug.
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