On an early March morning, a truck stopped in front of the maternity hospital in a small village. Two guards emerged, leading a pregnant woman who was clearly in labor. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, her face tight with pain.
“Hurry up!” one guard shouted. “Why couldn’t you wait until we reached the city, you fool?”
The emergency room buzzed with commotion. It wasn’t every day a prisoner was brought to their small hospital to give birth. She’d gone into labor during her transport to a specialized women’s prison.
Dr. Barbara Gibbs, who had been anticipating a quiet shift, heard the news: “They’ve brought in a prisoner.” So much for her cup of tea. Downstairs, she found the woman lying on a couch, moaning softly, the guards hovering nearby.
“Get her up for sanitation,” Dr. Gibbs ordered after a quick examination. As orderlies wheeled the woman away on a gurney, the guards started to follow.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Gibbs asked, blocking their path. “You can’t enter the maternity ward. We have protocols.”
“We have our own protocols,” one guard snapped. “We must be present.”
“Absolutely not,” Barbara stated firmly. “I won’t have you frightening the other mothers. This isn’t a prison. In the head doctor’s absence, I’m in charge.”
“What if she escapes?”
“Are you serious? She’s six centimeters dilated,” Dr. Gibbs said, shaking her head. “I’ve made myself clear.”
“If we can’t attend, we must handcuff her,” the guard insisted. “Trust me, it’s in your interests.”
Sighing heavily, the doctor relented. “Fine. Let them chain her. Now have some decency and wait in the emergency room.”
In the delivery room, the guards handcuffed the woman’s wrist to the bed and left.
“You really showed them who’s in charge,” smiled a young pediatrician.
“I don’t need their interference,” Dr. Gibbs muttered, then approached the patient, her voice softening. “Now then, my dear, remind me of your name.”
“Mia,” the prisoner moaned.
“Mia,” the doctor repeated. Her face flickered with a sudden, painful memory before she composed herself. “Listen to me now, Mia. Forget everything else. The baby is all that matters. His life depends on you.”
The word “prisoner” seemed incompatible with the young girl, no more than twenty, who now struggled on the birthing chair. Barbara found herself sympathizing with this girl and her unborn child. A difficult path lay ahead for them both.
Dr. Gibbs was a pillar of the community, having worked at the hospital for over twenty years. Her calm confidence and gentle hands had helped countless children into the world. But behind her professional demeanor was a difficult fate few knew about.
Thirty years ago, Barbara had been a young doctor in the city, happily married with a baby daughter named Mia. But her husband, Taylor, grew cruel and unfaithful as his business succeeded. After she caught him with another woman, he became violent. For the sake of her daughter, Barbara endured years of his abuse until he demanded a divorce to marry a wealthier woman.
Her relief was short-lived. In court, Taylor’s lawyers fabricated a story of neglect, twisting an incident where little Mia had cut her foot on a wire in a park. The injury, though minor, left a distinct arrow-shaped scar. The court stripped Barbara of her parental rights. Taylor took their daughter and disappeared, moving abroad. Heartbroken, Barbara returned to her mother’s village and poured all her lost love into her patients.
She treated every woman with the same care, whether she was a high-ranking official’s wife or a milkmaid. And now, this young prisoner.
When Barbara heard her name, the memory of her own Mia surged. Her daughter would be this girl’s age now. Shaking away the thought, she focused on the delivery.
“Mia, breathe correctly. Put your foot like this,” she instructed, adjusting the woman’s position. As she did, her eyes fell on the patient’s foot. There, faint but unmistakable, was an arrow-shaped scar. The scar she had kissed countless times after her daughter’s wound healed. The scar she saw in her dreams.
“Mia,” Barbara whispered, frozen.
“Is something wrong?” the woman moaned.
“No, no, you’re doing great,” Barbara said, forcing herself back to the present, aware of the curious glances from the other staff. It had to be a coincidence.
Soon, Mia gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Barbara placed the infant on her mother’s chest.
“My darling,” Mia whispered, kissing the tiny fingers. “I will not abandon you. I will not give you to anyone.” She cried with such bitter sincerity that it silenced the room.
Afterward, mother and child were taken to a ward. The guards, now permitted to enter, removed the handcuffs, announcing their intent to take Mia back to the colony and hand the child over to guardianship authorities.
“The patient is fragile,” Barbara told them, barely restraining her anger. “I won’t discharge her until morning at the earliest.” The guards grudgingly agreed to wait, posting sentries outside the room.
Later, in the residents’ room, Barbara’s thoughts raced. Mia. Could it be? She checked the patient’s chart: Type O-positive blood, same as her own. The face, the green eyes, the blonde hair—it all mirrored her own mother, Mia’s grandmother. She had to be sure.
She slipped into Mia’s room. The young mother was asleep. Cautiously, Barbara lifted the blanket and looked at the foot. Yes. It was the same scar.
Mia’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened? Is something wrong with my girl?”
“Hush, sweetheart,” Barbara whispered. “The baby is fine. I just came to check on you.” She sat beside the bed. “Mia, tell me what happened to you. Why are you in a colony? I want to help.”
“I have no one,” Mia said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “And nobody believed me. Why would you?”
Mia told her story. She was raised abroad by her father and stepmother, who told her that her mother had died. After her father’s business failed, they returned to their homeland, where her parents died in an accident. Orphaned at fifteen, she endured a miserable existence in an orphanage. Upon graduating, she received a small state-provided apartment and found work, dreaming of becoming a clothing designer.
“My mom’s name was Barbara,” Mia said, unaware of the doctor’s sharp intake of breath.
Her life took a turn when she met Nigel, a handsome, wealthy young man. He swept her off her feet, but he was secretive about his life. One day, the police raided her apartment and found illegal substances. Nigel had been using her home to store his goods. His influential family protected him, and he testified against her. Framed and betrayed, Mia was sentenced to five years. In prison, she discovered she was pregnant, a tiny ray of hope in her desolate world. They were transferring her to a different colony for mothers when she went into labor.
“You are my savior, Dr. Gibbs,” Mia whispered. “But what will happen to my daughter? They can’t separate us.”
“I’ll try to help you,” Barbara said, her voice trembling. She ran a hand through Mia’s hair and quickly left the room before the girl could see her tears.
This was her daughter. She knew it. But telling her now would be too much. First, she had to get her out. Barbara remembered a prominent lawyer, Mr. Flanigan, whose wife she had helped deliver a healthy baby a year ago. He had been immensely grateful, giving her his card and telling her he was in her debt. She found the card at the bottom of her handbag.
“Mr. Flanigan,” she said excitedly into the phone. He recognized her immediately. After a brief exchange, Barbara explained the situation.
“It’s a difficult case,” the lawyer said. “But I don’t understand your personal investment.”
“This girl,” Barbara said, swallowing a lump in her throat, “is my daughter.” She told him everything—the scar, the blood type, her ex-husband.
“You’re certain?” he asked.
“More than certain.”
“Then I’ll take the case,” he replied firmly. “You saved my child, and I will save yours. I won’t accept any payment. I’ll start tomorrow. Your task is to keep the baby out of an orphanage for as long as possible.”
“By law, we can keep her for a medical examination for a month,” Barbara said.
“That’s wonderful.”
The next morning, Mia was transferred to the prison hospital. In the corridor, Barbara managed to whisper, “A lawyer from the capital has taken your case. Be patient.”
“Dr. Gibbs, will you look after Sue?” Mia called out desperately as she was led away.
“Sue?” Barbara paled. That was her own mother’s name. “Of course, I will.”
Barbara went to the nursery where little Sue lay awake. “My little girl, my granddaughter,” she whispered, touching the baby’s soft cheek. She then went to the guardianship office. It wasn’t easy, but she convinced them to grant her temporary custody. A week later, she took Sue home, having taken her vacation leave. Her colleagues were shocked, unable to understand her devotion to a convict’s child.
Several months passed. Sue thrived, growing to look more and more like her mother, with the same green eyes and blonde curls. Barbara wrote to Mia constantly, detailing the baby’s progress, but she kept her true identity a secret. The time wasn’t right.
The investigation was lengthy, but after three months, Mr. Flanigan gathered enough evidence to prove Mia’s innocence and Nigel’s guilt. Nigel was arrested, and Mia was acquitted and released.
It was early summer when she stepped out of the prison gates. Freedom. Soon, she would see her daughter and thank Dr. Gibbs. But on the bus ride to the village, anxiety gnawed at her. She had no job, no money. What if Dr. Gibbs wouldn’t give Sue back?
She found the house nestled among trees and timidly opened the gate. From the veranda, she heard Barbara’s voice. “My golden granddaughter, let’s go for a walk.” Barbara rolled a stroller onto the porch and gasped when she saw her visitor.
“Mia! You’re here! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Mia answered, her eyes fixed on the stroller. “May I?”
“Of course,” Barbara smiled. “Sue, your mother has arrived.”
Mia leaned over her daughter, wanting to hold her, but she hesitated and suddenly burst into tears.
“Mia, what is it?”
“I’m afraid to take her,” Mia whispered. “I’m… stinking of the Zone. Dirty. I can’t wash it off.”
“My girl,” Barbara said, wrapping Mia in a fierce hug. “You are the purest person in the world. Everything will be forgotten, believe me. The main thing is that you are together now.”
Inside, after a shower, Mia finally held her baby. Sue smiled and hummed, as if she knew. Later, the difficult conversation began.
“I’ll have to go to the city to sort everything out,” Mia explained. “Perhaps Sue could stay with you for a while longer?”
“Why do you have to go anywhere?” Barbara said. “Stay here.”
“I can’t take advantage of your kindness. I know you’re used to Sue… I even heard you call her ‘granddaughter,’ but…”
“And she is my granddaughter,” Barbara said softly.
“I don’t understand.”
“Mia… you’re my daughter.”
Barbara told her everything. Mia listened, her face a mask of confusion and disbelief.
“My mother? But… my father said you were dead. You abandoned me, didn’t you?” Mia cried out. “And you kept silent all this time?”
“That’s why I kept silent. Because I knew this would be your first reaction,” Barbara said, her voice trembling. “But I didn’t leave you. Your father deceived everyone. He separated us.”
“You didn’t even look for me?”
“They told me you were abroad. I was sure you were doing well. Then I saw you in the hospital… and I recognized you by your scar. Daughter, I never betrayed you.”
Mia looked at Barbara, her eyes filled with tears. She placed Sue in the crib and threw herself into her mother’s arms. “My mommy… my dear… and I thought you would only be with me in dreams.”
“Both in dreams and in reality, I will always be with you,” Barbara whispered, breathing in the scent of her daughter’s hair. “With you and my granddaughter. We’ll start again. You’ll be happy, I promise.”
“We’ll be happy,” Mia said, pulling back to look into her mother’s eyes. They both laughed through their tears. And from the crib, their shared happiness—a daughter and a granddaughter—smiled toothlessly back at them. Three dear hearts, finally beating together.