From as far back as she could remember, Lida Hayes knew her life would never be like other girls’.
A single moment in her childhood had changed everything — and left its mark on her both literally and emotionally.

When she was only six, she survived a terrible accident that covered much of her face in burn scars. Her mother, Amelia, a strong-willed and fiercely protective woman, had since devoted her life entirely to her daughter’s care. That accident had taken not only Lida’s unscarred skin but also her innocence, and it had turned her mother’s life into a constant fight for survival.

Lida grew up learning that people noticed her scars before they noticed anything else. It became both a curse and, in a strange way, a shield. She understood that most men would never look beyond her face, and she quietly accepted that her chances for romance were slim.

Her mother never stopped telling her otherwise.

“Don’t worry, Lida,” Amelia would say gently, brushing Lida’s hair back. “One day we’ll save up for a good specialist. You’ll see — you’ll be beautiful again.”

Amelia truly believed it. She was a doctor by profession, but she worked extra shifts in every spare hour, saving money in an old tin box, even denying herself essentials.

Lida often protested.

“Mom, stop working yourself sick. I’m fine as I am. Maybe it’s even better this way — I’ll never end up with someone like my father.”

Her father, Victor, had vanished right after the accident. Lida had grown up thinking he had abandoned them. Amelia never spoke badly of him. She kept an old photo — a much younger Amelia with a braid down her back and a tall, dark-haired man beside her. Lida wasn’t visible yet; she’d been in her mother’s belly then.

“He was a good man,” Amelia would insist. “We don’t know the whole story. Maybe something happened.”

But Lida’s bitterness never faded. In her mind, no good man would walk away from his family in their hardest moment.

When Amelia died years later from respiratory complications she had quietly battled for years, Lida found a diary tucked in her mother’s things. In its worn pages, Amelia revealed that Victor might have had another family — a son named Arthur in the next town over.

“Maybe he just started a new life without us,” Amelia had written. “I never told Lida. Every child deserves to believe their father loves them.”

That revelation didn’t ease Lida’s resentment, but it deepened her understanding of her mother’s sacrifices. Amelia had carried her pain silently so Lida could grow up without hatred poisoning her heart.

After the funeral, Amelia’s best friend, Evelyn Grant, took Lida aside.

“Your mother was proud of you,” Evelyn said. “She told me she would have been gone long ago if not for you. Don’t you ever blame yourself.”

Evelyn became Lida’s anchor. Still, the years after her mother’s passing were lonely. The photo of her parents became Lida’s most treasured possession. She kept it in her wallet, and in her lowest moments she would look at it, imagining her mother watching over her.

Lida eventually found work at a mid-range restaurant. It wasn’t glamorous — she washed dishes in the back, far from the customers who sometimes stared too long. The work was hard, and the atmosphere was often tense because of the young owner, Arthur Miller.

Arthur was wealthy, handsome, and utterly insufferable. His mother had bought him the restaurant after he returned from studying abroad. He spent most of his time on the phone complaining about the staff, often throwing out insults.

“You’re all thieves and slackers!” was his favorite line.

The truth was, the restaurant only functioned because of Evelyn Grant, who worked as assistant manager but effectively ran everything. She treated the staff with kindness, sometimes even slipping them small bonuses. Everyone knew the business would collapse without her.

One morning, Arthur was in an especially bad mood. He believed — wrongly — that someone had stolen money from the safe.

Marina, another dishwasher and Lida’s closest friend at work, whispered to her,

“He probably took it himself and forgot. Just keep your head down.”

But Arthur burst into the dishwashing area, barking,

“Wallets out! I’m checking everyone.”

Marina handed over hers first. He sneered at the baby diapers inside but found no cash. Then he turned to Lida.

He rummaged through her bag and pulled out her worn leather wallet. Inside, tucked carefully behind a few small bills, was the faded photograph of her parents.

Arthur froze.

For a moment, his arrogant mask slipped. His eyes widened, his face drained of color.

“Who… who are these people?” he asked, his voice strangely strained.

Lida, taken aback, answered shortly,

“My parents. And no, they didn’t take your money.”

Arthur snapped the wallet shut and handed it back without another word. Then, without explanation, he turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

Later that day, Evelyn came down to the dish room.

“Lida, could you step into the office for a minute?”

Lida wiped her hands and followed. Arthur was there, looking oddly unsettled. He gestured to the chair opposite him.

“Where did you get that photo?” he asked.

“I’ve had it my whole life. My mother kept it,” Lida replied cautiously.

Arthur swallowed hard.

“The man in that photo… he’s my father.”

Lida blinked. “Your father?”

“Victor Miller,” Arthur said slowly. “I’ve never seen that picture before. My mom told me he had another family before us, but I didn’t know… I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

The words hit Lida like a wave.

“Wait. Are you saying… you’re Arthur? The son from the other town?”

Arthur nodded.

“I didn’t even know your name until now. My mom never talked about it. My father died when I was fifteen. I wish I could say he explained everything before he passed, but he didn’t. He just… looked sad whenever he thought I wasn’t watching.”

Lida sat in stunned silence. The man she’d despised her entire life — the one she thought had abandoned her — was Arthur’s father too. That made Arthur her half-brother.

Over the next week, Arthur’s demeanor toward Lida changed.

He stopped barking orders at her and started lingering near the dish area, asking if she needed anything. One afternoon, he appeared with two cups of coffee.

“Look,” he began awkwardly, “I know I’ve been… a jerk. I didn’t know who you were. If I had, I—”

“You would’ve been nicer?” Lida cut in with a wry smile.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. And I want to do better. You’re family, Lida. And I don’t want to waste more years not knowing you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Family had always been a fragile, painful word for her. But there was something genuine in his tone.

With Evelyn’s gentle encouragement, the siblings began to talk more. Arthur asked about Amelia, and Lida shared stories of their mother’s resilience and warmth. He confessed that his own childhood, though privileged, had been lonely — his mother often busy, his father distracted and distant.

“I used to hear him humming sometimes,” Arthur said. “And I’d catch this look on his face, like he was somewhere else. Maybe he was thinking about you.”

That thought stirred something unexpected in Lida — not forgiveness, exactly, but a softening. Perhaps her mother had been right: maybe there had been more to Victor’s disappearance than weakness.

Months passed, and Arthur made good on his promise to change.

He promoted Lida to a front-of-house role, over her protests, and insisted on paying for the skin treatment her mother had once dreamed of for her. Lida hesitated, but Evelyn took her hand.

“It’s not pity,” Evelyn said. “It’s love. Let him give you this.”

The treatments were gradual, and the scars never fully disappeared, but Lida began to feel more at ease meeting people’s eyes. Customers who once looked past her now smiled and greeted her by name.

One evening, after closing, Arthur brought out a small box. Inside was a gold locket.

“It was Dad’s,” he explained. “He kept it hidden in his desk. There’s a photo of you as a baby inside — Mom said he carried it everywhere but never talked about it. I think he wanted to come back, Lida. He just… didn’t know how.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she opened the locket. The tiny image inside was faded, but unmistakable — her mother holding her, both of them smiling.

For the first time in years, Lida felt the tight knot in her chest loosen. She realized she wasn’t as alone as she’d believed.

She had a brother now — one who was trying, in his imperfect way, to make amends for a past neither of them had chosen. And she had her mother’s memory, not as a weight to carry, but as a light to guide her forward.

A year later, the restaurant was thriving. Arthur had grown into his role, learning from Evelyn and even taking advice from Lida.

On the anniversary of Amelia’s passing, they closed the restaurant early and drove to the small cemetery on the hill. Standing by their mother’s grave, Arthur placed the worn-out photograph — the one from Lida’s wallet — into a glass frame beside the headstone.

“Now she’s with both of us,” he said quietly.

Lida slipped her arm through his. “And we’re with each other.”

For the first time since she was six years old, Lida believed her mother’s words: Everything will get better.