I was walking home from work one day, thinking about the bills I had to pay that evening. But as I turned the corner onto the town square street, a familiar melody suddenly reached my ears and stopped me in my tracks. It was the song I used to sing with my daughter Lily before she disappeared from our lives 17 years ago. It was a song I’d made up just for her, a little lullaby about a field of flowers and sunlight that would brighten her dreams. No one else would know it. No one.

But here it was, clear as day, sung by a young woman standing across the square, eyes closed, with a serene smile. The song reminded me of when our little girl filled our home with warmth and joy. She was the center of our world, and her sudden disappearance left a gaping hole in our lives that never fully healed. Suddenly, all the worries disappeared from my mind that day, and I felt my legs carrying me forward like I had no control.

My mind kept saying it was impossible, that it couldn’t be, but my heart pushed me forward. The woman looked familiar, painfully so. Dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, and looking at her smile made me think I’d seen it a thousand times in old photos and my own memories.

She even had a dimple on her left cheek, just like Cynthia, my wife. It all seemed too incredible, too much to believe, but there was this pull. A feeling only a parent could know. “Please, I’d like to hear it,” I urged, my heart pounding. “I’ll buy you a coffee and we can talk if you don’t mind.” She paused, studying me for a second, then nodded. “Well… sure, why not?”

We walked over to the café and settled into a corner booth. The more I looked at her, the more familiar she seemed. Her eyes, her smile, and even her voice felt like home. It felt like a missing piece of my life had suddenly fallen into place. I felt so nervous as I moved closer. I watched as she finished the song and opened her eyes. She caught me staring but looked away as the crowd clapped for her. Thank you all for listening! she said with a wide smile. “Have a great day!”

Then, her gaze met mine, and she noticed the strange expression on my face. “Looks like you didn’t like my performance,” she said, walking over. “Was I that bad?” “Oh, no, no,” I chuckled. “I, uh, that song is special to me. It’s very special.” “Oh, really?” she asked. “It’s super special for me too. You see, it’s one of the few memories from my childhood. I’ve been singing it ever since I can remember. It’s the only thing I have left from back then.” “Thank you,” she smiled. “I was actually just passing through town for work when I heard that band playing. They were asking if anyone wanted to sing, and well, I just had to.”