I whispered, “My girls did that? Hannah and Diana?”
“You’ve raised very talented young women,” she said. “We’d love to set up a meeting—with interpreters, of course.”
When I hung up, I sat stunned. Steven walked in. “Abbie? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Closer to an angel,” I said, half laughing, half crying.
I explained, and his jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were,” I said. “Our girls. The ones someone left in a stroller. They did this.”
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