"Good child, good child..." Giselle Lester tightly grasped her hand, "You're so sensible, mommy really doesn't know what to do... you're so good, mommy really feels sorry for you..."
Giselle repeatedly mumbled, tears in her eyes as she earnestly looked at Iris Harris's face. She couldn't describe the joy in her heart, yet there was an indescribable heartache entwined as well. How wonderful it would have been if she could have grown up with her own child?
But life's uncertainties led to seeing her only when she was critically ill.
The things that mothers and daughters could do together, she could no longer do. How she wished to travel with her, cook a meal for her, and see her marry and have children...
They really missed too much...
...
"Your Holiness, The Pope."
Someone came over and whispered a few words in Henry Ford's ear. Henry nodded, "I understand."
