“Then why?” I asked.
Her confession came in fragments.
“There was confusion in the nursery. Your daughter was placed under the wrong chart. When I realized… I panicked. One lie became another, and by morning I couldn’t undo it.”
“I told myself I’d fix it. Then I told myself it was too late.”
She broke down.
“I deserve whatever happens.”
I nodded slowly.
For the first time in six years, I wasn’t carrying this alone.
But nothing could erase the truth—
My daughter had been alive all along.
