"When I think about my son calling someone else 'Mom,' I feel like I’m falling apart. When will this end?" My husband’s voice was laced with frustration, his teeth grinding with the weight of the situation.
My mother-in-law chimed in proudly, "Older people have more experience. If it weren’t for my plan to switch the babies, we wouldn’t have gained any advantage over Sophia."
My husband nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing. "That clever bitch, Sophia, has been keeping her guard up against me all these years. She won’t let me interfere in the company’s affairs." He clenched his fists. "But don’t worry. She’s already agreed to give her son 20% of the company shares once he comes of age."
He leaned forward, a dark glint in his eyes. "When that contract is signed, we’ll reveal the truth to her. She won’t know what hit her, and she’ll be completely dumbfounded."
The three of them laughed in unison, their expressions twisted with a sense of victory. The room felt cold with their shared malice.
I sat quietly, hidden behind the screen, watching them, my silence speaking louder than any words I could have said. Instead of confronting them, I chose to ignore their scheming.
While their motives were vile, there was no denying their dedication to raising their son. They poured all their energy into making sure he had the best opportunities, shaping him into a motivated, strong, and capable young man.
The boy excelled in both academics and athletics, impressing everyone around him. He was admitted to one of the city's top high schools, and before long, he turned 18.
My husband and mother-in-law immediately began preparing for his coming-of-age ceremony. They booked a hotel, arranged the details, and made sure everything would be perfect. My husband, especially, had been coming to me with ideas for what kind of gift to give our son.
I understood exactly what he was thinking, so I handed him the draft of the share transfer contract. His face relaxed as he read it, a look of relief spreading across him. He gave me a nod of approval and worked even harder.
The day before my son's coming-of-age ceremony, I casually mentioned to Olivia that I hadn’t seen her daughter in a while and asked if she could bring her along to make the occasion livelier.
For a moment, a smug grin flashed across Olivia’s face, though she quickly masked it. With feigned reluctance, she said, "Madam, this is such an important day for the young sir. How could you let that... girl, make a spectacle of herself?"
I smiled sweetly and responded, "How can you, as a mother, speak about your daughter that way? No one will laugh at her, I’m sure."
She smiled back, her tone dripping with insincerity. "Madam is so kind. I’ll go back to the countryside and bring her here."
Despite her words of gratitude, I could see the glee in her eyes—she was obviously plotting something far more malicious.
The next day, the grand coming-of-age ceremony for my son took place at one of the city's most luxurious hotels. The banquet hall was filled with influential guests, local elites, and familiar faces.
Then, Olivia arrived with my daughter in tow. The moment they entered, all eyes turned to her. My daughter, in stark contrast to the lavish setting, was dressed in rough, unpolished linen clothes, and there was dirt deliberately smeared on them—Olivia’s little touch of cruelty.
As my daughter limped across the floor, the scars on her face remained shocking, a constant reminder of the torment she had endured. But it wasn’t just her appearance that drew gasps—it was the visible sign of her pregnancy.
Olivia had openly claimed that, once my son came of age, he would marry the village girl. It seemed she had kept her word.
Watching my daughter, meek and vulnerable, I couldn’t help but shake my head, my heart heavy with a sense of helplessness.
The ceremony continued without interruption, and soon it was time for me to present my son with his gift. Surrounded by family and friends, with my husband, mother-in-law, and Olivia watching, I stood on stage and signed the share transfer contract, officially passing on 20% of the company’s shares to my son. The crowd erupted in applause, praising him for his fortune and calling him lucky to have such a mother.
Just as the applause began to die down, a loud, jarring ringtone sliced through the air, cutting through the moment. It was Olivia’s phone, turned up to full volume for all to hear. She answered it, her voice raised in exaggerated surprise. “What? Really?”
With excitement and joy, Olivia rushed to the stage, practically tripping over her own feet in her haste. As she reached me, she thrust her cell phone in the air, her voice loud and eager.
“Wrong, wrong, ma’am, everything is completely wrong!” she shouted. “I am Jacob’s biological mother!”
At that moment, I couldn’t help but sneer internally. I had waited eighteen years for this very day.
