The day I found out I wasn't really an Adelson, Sharon—their real daughter—stormed in and stabbed me—over and over. Just like that, my shot at being a mom? Gone.

Chuck Benetton, my fiancé, lost it. My parents swore they'd disown her.

To "comfort" me, Chuck proposed on the spot. My parents handed me the severance letter—Sharon officially disowned—and told me to just focus on healing.

Later, they said Sharon had run off and gotten trafficked in Nyamara, some hotspot for scams and lost souls.

They said it served her right.

And yeah... I believed them.

Six years into the lie, I saw her—very much alive, baby bump and all, curled up against my husband like she owned him.

"If I hadn't snapped back then, Yasmine never would've married you, " she said. "Thank God you and Mom and Dad backed me. Otherwise, that imposter would've landed me in jail.

"She probably never guessed I've been right here, carrying your baby. Once I give birth, just fake an adoption. She can nanny our kid forever.

"Thanks for everything, Chuck."

She smiled like he was her hero. And he blushed.

"Don't thank me. Marrying her was the only way to protect you. I'd do it all again."

So yeah. The guy I thought loved me? He was always lying. My "parents"? They only cared about Sharon.

If that's love, I want nothing to do with it.

I froze outside the maternity dept, heart pounding. No mistaking that face.

The memory of her knife still burned in my gut. And there was Chuck Benetton—my so-called husband—cradling her belly like it was everything.

Even from far away, his love for Sharon and that baby hit me like a punch.

So that marriage? The one I thought made things right? Total scam.

And my parents—the ones who swore they had my back—had wiped the evidence clean and pushed Chuck to marry me. All to keep their real daughter out of prison.

What a joke.

I looked away before Chuck could see me crack. That's when my phone lit up—Mom and Dad calling. Of course.

Their ringtone blared—panicked and sharp. I took a breath and picked up.

"Yasmine, where'd you go? The butler said you left. Did you go to the hospital again? How many times have we told you—not to go alone! What if something happens?"

My nails dug into my palm, grounding me.

Were they really scared for me... or scared I'd find out?

"Yasmine? You there? Your mom and I just got here. We're coming to find you."

Their fake concern cut deeper than I expected.

I kept my voice cool. "I'm in the OB-GYN restroom. It's just a checkup. No big deal. I'm not a kid—I can't keep leaning on you guys forever."

That fake chill in my tone? It worked. Their panic faded fast.

A few minutes later, Mom barged in, scanning me from head to toe. "You're okay, right? Did you get checked?"

Her lashes lowered, but the flicker of panic in her eyes said it all. Thinking back to how fast they'd rushed over...

Yeah. They weren't scared for me—they were scared I'd run into Sharon and blow their cover.

"I'm fine," I said. "Felt a little sick when I got here, so I haven't done the checkup yet."

"That's good," she blurted, then backtracked fast. "Wait—I mean, good you waited. Your dad and I are here. No way we’re letting you face those cold machines by yourself. Come on, we’ll go with you."

At the door stood my dad—kind smile, soft eyes.

He didn't share my blood, but I grew up thinking I was his everything.

Not today.

Today, I learned blood beats love.

So fine. Let's play that game.

Dad slid in on my left, all casual. "Why'd you come alone? Everything okay?"

Mom leaned her head on my shoulder, smiling soft. "She's grown up. Worrying about us now."

Dad faked a grumble and pinched my cheek. "Still—don't come here alone again, got it?"

Perfect moment.

I slipped my recording phone into his pocket. "I know, I know. I messed up. Can you hold my phone while I get checked?"

So normal, so smooth—they didn't blink.

At the OB-GYN department, I walked in solo.

They stood by the door, smiling, waving, full of fake concern.

I used to think I had the best family in the world.

Now? It felt like being wrapped in snakes—tight, cold, and ready to strike.

"Doctor, how is she?" Mom rushed over with my report the second we were done.

Dad pulled out his little notebook which recorded all my preferences and restrictions like it meant something.

To anyone watching, they looked like the perfect, doting parents—if only they knew.

"Dad, Mom, I need the restroom," I said, voice light.

I took the phone back, smiling like nothing was wrong, and slipped into the washroom, hands shaking.

I thought I was ready to hear it. A hundred times, I told myself I could handle it.

But that first line hit like a blade.

"Mr. Adelson, Mrs. Adelson, your daughter's recovery is going well. Her injuries have healed, and with proper care, she could conceive soon. Should we stop the medication? If she keeps taking it, she might become permanently infertile. That would be too cruel."

My doctor. He actually sounded... guilty.

Losing the chance to be a mom? That's cruel enough.

Then Dad cut in, sharp.

"I didn't hire you to worry about that. She can't stop. It's just a kid. Worst case, she adopts—less pain for her."

Mom jumped in, cold as ice. "Yasmine's always been weak. No kids is better. You're just a doctor. Stick to that, got it?"

The doctor caved fast. "I wasn't trying to interfere. Just warning you—if this keeps up, your daughter could lose her fertility and suffer side effects."

Dad didn't flinch. "Not your problem. Just keep her looking healthy. That's all we need."

"Yes, sir."

Click. Silence.

And me? Frozen.

For years, I blamed myself for not giving Chuck a kid.

My parents swore it wasn't my fault—that some things just aren't meant to be.

But it was their fault. I was never infertile. They made sure I couldn't have his child.

Because I didn't deserve to. Not like her—their real daughter.

Now it all made sense. The endless meds. The fake support. The lies dressed as love.

It was all fake.

Tears slid down as my body shook, drained and hollow.

"Yasmine?"

A knock came at the door. It was Mom, wondering why I hadn't returned.

Mom's knock echoed down the line of stalls. She was full-on panicking, banging on each door like I'd vanished.

"I'm here."

I wiped my face and stepped out, eyes puffy.

She froze, then cupped my cheeks. "What happened? Who upset my baby? Why are you crying? Talk to me."

Same face. Same voice. But looking at her made me nauseous.

"It's nothing, Mom. Probably ate something weird—my stomach's off."

I leaned into her shoulder, masking the hatred in my eyes. She stroked my hair like she still had the right.

***

We pulled up to the Benetton estate.

Chuck was already at the door, waiting like nothing had happened.

The same guy who'd had his hands all over someone else's bump just two hours ago now pulled me in close, rubbing my stomach like he cared.

"Coraline said you weren't feeling well," he said softly. "I rushed home. Made pumpkin cream soup—it's almost done. Eat a little, then rest."

That's when I noticed the apron.

If I hadn't seen what I saw at the hospital, I might've believed it. That the guy fussing over me still loved me.

He'd even moved near the Adelson estate after our wedding—just to be close to them.

He called my name in his sleep.

But it was never me he loved.

It was Sharon. Always Sharon.

He married me for her. Lived a lie for her. Lied to me—for years.

Honestly? His acting deserved an award.

"Sebastian, Coraline," he called out, "come join us for dinner."

Chuck settled me on the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen.

My parents couldn't stop gushing—how lucky I was to have a husband like him.

I stared at the painting on the wall. I'd always hated it. Could never figure out why Chuck insisted on hanging that ugly thing front and center.

But when my parents came in and made a beeline for it—eyes locked on the faint letter "S" tucked in the corner—I got it.

It wasn't about the art. It was about the artist.

"Dinner's ready."

As the plates hit the table, it finally sank in—Chuck had never once cooked something I actually liked.

For six years, I told myself it was fine. He worked so hard, the least I could do was adjust.

But now? I wasn't so sure. Maybe it wasn't his taste at all.

Maybe it was Sharon's.

"Yasmine, you okay?" Chuck asked, placing food on my plate.

I must've looked pale.

Mom looked at me, hesitant. Her voice was tight.

"Seeing you two so happy... it really puts us at ease. It's just that..."

She didn't finish. Didn't have to. It was always Sharon—lurking in every good moment like a bad habit.

Back then, I'd just stay quiet. Guilt was my second skin. I was lucky they "picked" me over their real daughter.

Dad cut in. "We just hope she's okay. She's still our blood. Life in Nyamara must've been rough. If she's alive, that's enough."

Then he turned to me. "Yasmine, don't blame your mom. Sharon's paid her dues. What's done is done. Let it go."