Evelyn’s fifth birthday is filled with messy frosting, laughter, and love. After years of miscarriages, she had healed our hearts when we adopted her at eighteen months, abandoned with a note saying her birth parents couldn’t handle a special-needs child. Norton adored her, celebrating every milestone. Only his mother, Eliza, rejected Evelyn, and we cut contact.
That morning, Eliza suddenly showed up and dropped a devastating truth: Evelyn is Norton’s biological daughter. Before our marriage, he’d had a brief relationship; years later, the woman told him she couldn’t cope and was giving their child up. Norton quietly ensured we adopted Evelyn, believing love would matter more than the truth—especially while I was grieving my miscarriages.
I was hurt and furious about the lie, but never about Evelyn. Eliza admitted she’d rejected Evelyn out of shame, not disability, and I sent her away. In the end, I chose my family. Evelyn is my daughter in every way that matters. She made me a mother—and that truth outweighs everything else.