Father Michael stood before Eleanor’s casket, the weight of the funeral pressing on him. As he leaned in to pray, his gaze fell upon a purplish birthmark on her neck—identical to his own. He froze, a rush of memories flooding back: his years in the orphanage, the search for his parents, and the lingering sense of something missing.

After the service, he approached Eleanor’s children, asking if she might have had another child years ago. Mark, her eldest, dismissed him, but Anna, her youngest, agreed to a DNA test. A week later, Father Michael received the results: a match.

Though Eleanor’s daughters welcomed him into the family, her sons rejected him. Still, Father Michael found peace in knowing where he belonged. But the final answers came from Margaret, Eleanor’s lifelong friend. She revealed that Eleanor had been pregnant years ago, met a traveler, and secretly had him before arranging for his adoption. Eleanor had kept track of him, visiting the orphanage in silence.

Overwhelmed with emotions, Father Michael forgave her. In the days that followed, Eleanor’s family embraced him, especially Anna, who shared memories of their mother. One afternoon, Anna brought him a photo album of Eleanor.

Father Michael visited Eleanor’s grave, the weight of years of unanswered questions finally lifting. “I forgive you,” he whispered. “And I thank you for watching over me.”