Who Stole My Daughter’s Future?

Ten years ago, my daughter scored 717 on the national college entrance exam and became the top scorer in the country.

After that, everything went her way. Professor at a prestigious university by twenty-seven, married to the Ashford heir—her first love. A beautiful life.

She got pregnant, and I went to Saint Mercy Monastery to pray for blessings.

A girl found me outside the gates. Mute, blind, dragging one leg. She shoved a piece of paper into my hands, frantic.

It read:

"Mom, someone took my place. I'm your real daughter, Emma Sullivan. I was the top scorer on the national college entrance exam."

——

I held that piece of paper tight, convinced it was some kind of prank.

By the time I turned around, she was gone.

I couldn't shake it the whole way home.

The moment I walked through the door, my daughter's voice met me, bright and laughing. "Mom! I just bought durian. Come try some."

"I've been craving it ever since I got pregnant. Picked it up fresh from the market."

Durian. The word stopped me cold.

Before the exam, Emma couldn't stand durian.

Even a whiff of it made her gag.

But after the exam, somehow, she could eat it.

I'd never thought much of it at the time.

I'd asked a doctor once, and he said taste changes were perfectly normal.

But now I kept thinking about that note someone had pressed into my hands outside the monastery.

A chill ran straight through me.

Could it be true? Could my daughter really have been switched?

How? How was that even possible?

Ten full years had passed since the exam. Who could have swapped my own child right under my nose and left me none the wiser?

She must have noticed me staring, because she came over, worry creasing her face.

"Mom, you look awful. Did the trip to Saint Mercy Monastery wear you out?"

I looked at her face. The longer I looked, the less I recognized.

Something in her bearing, deep down, was nothing like the child I'd raised for eighteen years.

"I'm fine. Got a bit of wind on the road."

I waved it off, slipping the note into the deepest fold of my pocket.

She pulled me to the sofa and cracked the durian open. The sharp, pungent smell flooded the room instantly.

She held out a piece, eyes eager.

"Mom, here—try some. It's really sweet."

I stared at the pale flesh in her hand, and my stomach turned.

My daughter used to retch at the smell alone.

But this woman was eating it bite by bite, savoring every mouthful, and the weight on my chest grew so heavy I could barely breathe.

I tested her.

"Emma, do you remember what we ate the night before the exam?"

Her hand paused mid-bite.

Then she smiled.

"Of course. Just simple home cooking, right? Something light so it wouldn't mess with my test."

Something went cold behind my eyes.

Wrong.

The night before the exam, my daughter had been too nervous to sleep. I made her a bowl of brown sugar glutinous rice balls.

Her favorite. The one time I let her break the no-sweets rule.

The woman in front of me had no idea.

I kept my face still and pressed on.

"What about when you were little? What bug were you most scared of?"

She answered without thinking.

"Cockroaches. Everyone's scared of cockroaches."

My heart sank all the way to the floor.

My daughter had only ever been afraid of caterpillars. She'd never flinched at a cockroach in her life. She'd stomp them with her bare foot and not think twice.

Every answer was wrong.

Not a single one was right.

On the surface I held it together, but inside I was coming apart, and I couldn't stop staring at the woman sitting across from me.

My eyes went red.

The silence stretched until I couldn't hold it anymore. When I finally spoke, my voice came out scraped raw.

"You're not my daughter, are you?"

The air went dead.

She looked up at me. Something cold flickered at the corner of her eyes, there and gone, and then it was confusion and meekness again.