she’s not just your daughter.” She tried to dismiss it, but the look in her eyes told me something was terribly wrong. For days I replayed those words, unable to shake the feeling that she wasn’t simply being dramatic. When I pushed her again, she finally revealed the truth — that after my complicated delivery years ago, a brief hospital mix-up left two newborn girls in my room, and our mother had feared ever since that the wrong baby might have gone home with me.
What followed changed all of our lives. A quiet DNA test confirmed Lily wasn’t biologically mine. Then came a call from a woman named Eloise — the biological mother of the child I had raised. Her daughter, Amaya, born the same day in the same hospital, looked more like me than the girl
