The next morning, the cafe opened as usual. Catherine moved around with her usual energy, checking the tables, arranging flowers, and giving Rachel instructions. But her eyes kept drifting toward Hannah, who was wiping down the counter absentmindedly.
Hannah's face looked pale. Her eyes seemed tired and heavy, and though she smiled faintly whenever a customer passed by, Catherine could tell it wasn't real.
When the rush of customers slowed down, Catherine quietly walked over and touched Hannah's shoulder gently.
"My dear Grace," she said softly, "I've been watching you since yesterday. Something isn't right with you. Your heart looks heavy."
Hannah froze, her hands gripping the cloth tightly. She forced a small smile, shaking her head.
"I'm fine, Aunt Catherine. Maybe I'm just tired."
But Catherine was not convinced. She pulled out a chair and motioned for Hannah to sit.
"No, my child. This is more than tiredness. I see pain in your eyes. I have lived long enough to know when someone is carrying a burden."
Hannah hesitated. Her lips trembled, but she swallowed the words before they escaped. She lowered her gaze, blinking back tears.
"I… I am okay, Aunt.
Catherine reached for her hand, squeezing it warmly.
"Listen to me, Grace. Whatever it is, don't keep it all inside. You're young, and life can be heavy sometimes, but sharing makes it lighter. I won't push you, but remember… I'm here if you need to talk."
Hannah nodded slowly, her throat too tight to speak. She managed a whisper:
"Thank you, Aunt. I'll be okay."
But as she stood to continue her work, Catherine's eyes followed her with quiet worry. Deep in her heart, she knew this young woman was hiding something painful—something far bigger than just "tiredness."
Catherine kept working at the café, but her heart was unsettled. More than once, she glanced at Hannah secretly. The young woman was too quiet, too withdrawn. She didn't smile the way girls her age usually did, and often her eyes seemed far away, as if her mind was lost in another world.
Later that evening, when the customers had left and Rachel was busy counting the day's sales, Catherine called her softly.
"Rachel, come here a moment."
Rachel hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Yes, Auntie?"
Catherine studied her closely, her eyes sharp but full of concern.
"This friend of yours, Grace… I've been watching her. Something isn't right. Who is she really? And why does she carry so much sorrow in her eyes?"
Rachel froze for a second. Inside, her heart raced. She knew she couldn't reveal Hannah's secret—Hannah had asked her to keep silent. She forced a quick smile.
"Auntie, Grace is my close friend from the village. She's a good person, maybe she's just not used to the city yet. That's why she seems so quiet."
But Catherine didn't look convinced. She placed her hands on her waist and pressed further.
"Rachel, I raised you like my own daughter. Don't lie to me. I can see clearly this girl is hiding something big. I want you to tell me the truth—are you keeping something from me?"
Rachel swallowed hard, her pulse beating fast.
"Auntie, please don't worry. There's nothing bad. Grace is going through hard times, but it's not my place to explain. If she stays silent, then please respect her silence."
Catherine studied her for a long moment, then sighed deeply.
"Alright, Rachel. I won't push her. But remember—truth always reveals itself one day. Just make sure your friend is safe."
Rachel nodded quickly. "Yes, Auntie. I'll make sure."
But that night, when everyone was asleep, Catherine lay awake staring at the ceiling, whispering to herself:
"Grace, Grace… who are you really? And what is the heavy sorrow hiding in your eyes?"
Back at David's Home
The house was quiet that evening. Victoria had just tucked Isabelle into bed, but Felicity was still awake, restless and unsettled. She sat on the carpet, hugging a doll tightly to her chest, her eyes watery.
David walked in, loosening his tie, and forced a smile as he bent down to lift Felicity onto his lap.
"There, little one," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You're safe here. Daddy's got you."
But Victoria, standing by the doorway, watched silently. Her arms were folded, her face calm but her thoughts heavy. She couldn't shake the uneasiness she felt since David had brought this child home.
Finally, she spoke.
"David… you keep saying she belongs here. But how can you say that when you brought her in from the street? This doesn't feel right."
David's face hardened instantly. He didn't want this conversation..
"Victoria," he said, his voice firm, "I don't want to fight with you. I've made my decision. Felicity stays here. That's all you need to know."
Victoria frowned. "So you expect me to just accept everything without explanation? You haven't even told me where she really came from."
David rose to his feet, carrying Felicity. His eyes flashed with frustration.
"I said she stays. That's final. I have no more explanations to give."
With that, he walked past Victoria and into the bedroom, leaving her standing alone in the hall.
She stood there for a long moment, her heart heavy.
We have a child of our own, yet you still went out and brought another into this house… she thought bitterly. Something about this isn't right. Not at all.
The morning sun poured gently into Catherine's cafe. The place smelled of fresh buns, bread and hot soup. Rachel and Hannah were busy setting tables, arranging cups, and greeting early customers.
Everything seemed normal until a woman walked in, holding the hand of her little girl. The child couldn't have been more than three years old. She had soft curls and a smile that lit up her face.
The moment Hannah's eyes fell on the girl, her heart squeezed painfully. She froze where she stood, her breath catching in her throat.
The little girl laughed as her mother lifted her into a chair. The sound of that laugh stabbed Hannah's soul. It reminded her of Ella—her own daughter, stolen from her arms.
Rachel noticed Hannah's hands trembling as she poured tea. "Are you okay?" she whispered.
Hannah quickly wiped the corner of her eye and forced a faint smile. "I'm fine," she lied. But the tears already brimmed, threatening to fall.
She carried the tray to the table, placing the food gently in front of the woman and her child. The little girl looked up at Hannah and grinned.
"Thank you," she said in her sweet, tiny voice.
Hannah's knees nearly gave out. She whispered back, "You're welcome," but as she turned away, tears slid down her cheeks. She rushed to the kitchen, hiding from everyone's eyes.
Inside, she leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking.
That could have been my Ella, she thought painfully. Why did this happen to me? Why, God?
Rachel followed quickly, pulling her into a hug.
"Stay strong, Hannah," she murmured softly. "We'll find Ella. I promise."
But Hannah's tears only grew heavier, her heart breaking all over again.
Catherine had been wiping the counter when she caught sight of Hannah rushing into the kitchen, her face hidden, her steps unsteady. Rachel slipped in right after her, almost protectively.
Catherine frowned. Something wasn't right. She quietly walked closer, stopping just outside the kitchen door. Inside, she could hear Hannah's muffled sobs and Rachel's soft voice trying to comfort her.
Her heart tightened.
This girl… Grace, she's carrying a pain far too deep for someone her age.
After a moment, Catherine stepped in. Her voice was gentle but firm.
"Rachel. Grace. Is everything alright?"
Hannah quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand and shook her head. "I'm okay, Madam. Sorry… I'll get back to work."
But Catherine wasn't convinced. She placed a hand on Hannah's shoulder.
"My child, I've lived long enough to know when someone is hurting. Don't hide from me. Whatever it is, you don't have to carry it all alone."
Rachel quickly jumped in, trying to shield Hannah. "Auntie, she just… remembered something from home. That's all."
Catherine's eyes narrowed slightly. She looked from Rachel to Hannah, then sighed.
"Alright. I won't force you. But remember what I said last day —truth always finds its way out. And when that time comes, I only hope it won't be too late."
With that, Catherine left the kitchen, but her mind stayed restless.
Meanwhile, Hannah sat quietly, her hands clenched tight on her lap, her eyes still red. She whispered to herself so faintly that only Rachel could hear:
"One day, I'll get Ella back. One day…"
Rachel squeezed her hand. "And I'll be with you when that day comes."
Meanwhile, Catherine had been checking tables when she noticed Hannah sitting alone in the corner, her shoulders shaking slightly. She walked over, concern written all over her face.
"Hannah, my child… what's wrong? You don't have to hide from me," Catherine said gently.
Hannah looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She took a shaky breath, her lips trembling. "Madam… I… I have to tell you the truth," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Catherine knelt beside her. "It's alright, Hannah. You can tell me anything. I'm listening."
Hannah's voice broke as she spoke, each word heavy with pain.
"My daughter… she's been taken from me. David… the man I trusted… he… he took her from my arms. I don't know where she is. Every day, I cry for her. I can't eat, I can't sleep… I feel like I'm dying inside, and no one knows."
Catherine's eyes softened. She placed a comforting hand on Hannah's shoulder.
"Oh, my child… I see now. That pain… it's more than I could imagine."
Hannah continued, her sobs shaking her body.
"I came here to work, to survive, but my heart… my heart is broken. I just… I just want my baby back. Her name is Ella… she's my little girl, and I… I can't stop thinking about her."
Catherine pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Shhh… it's alright. You're not alone anymore. We'll figure this out together. I promise you, Hannah, your little girl… we will find her."
Hannah clung to Catherine, her tears falling freely. For the first time in days, she felt a sliver of relief, knowing that someone else knew the truth—and that she didn't have to carry the pain alone.
Rachel quietly stepped back, giving them space, her own eyes misty with compassion