She explained that she was working on research for alternative treatments for heart disease and wanted me to visit her lab. Her words struck a chord. Robert had died from a massive heart attack. The idea of preventing that pain for other families was a powerful lure. I agreed to meet her the next day.
Lily was a young woman of about twenty-five, with dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes. Her passion for her work was contagious. She explained that they were developing an artificial heart tissue using a patient’s own stem cells, a revolutionary technique.
“Why would Nora share something so personal with you?” I finally asked, my curiosity piqued by her knowledge of my family.
Instead of answering directly, Lily opened a drawer and took out a framed photograph. It showed a tall, gray-haired man with an arm around a younger woman. “My parents,” she said softly. “Or rather, the people who raised me.”
I looked at her with new understanding, noticing the details I had missed: the shape of her eyes, the curve of her smile, features that were painfully familiar.
“You are…” I began, unable to complete the sentence.