My name is Elena, and when I was eight, I promised my little sister Mia I would find her no matter what. But thirty-two years passed, and I thought I had failed.
We grew up in an orphanage, clinging to each other amid cold walls, strict routines, and no family. One day, I was adopted without her—torn from her arms, leaving her screaming my name. I tried to find her again at eighteen, then later as an adult, but her records were sealed, her name changed. She became a ghost I couldn’t reach.
Then, on a business trip, I saw it: a worn red-and-blue bracelet I had made for her decades ago, now on a little girl’s wrist. My heart stopped.
The woman with her was Mia. She had kept the bracelet, passing it to her daughter to preserve the memory. Tears, recognition, and laughter followed. Thirty-two years apart, and I had finally found her.
This time, I wasn’t letting go.