Chapter 4: The Swap and the River Rescue

Grandma Carol and Dad both disliked my mom, Lillian Jennings. Their feelings weren’t hidden—just muted, the way old money families handle drama. You could feel the chill in the air whenever they were in the same room.

But now, loving the house and its crow, they reluctantly showed her some kindness. It was a forced truce—smiles too tight, words a little too careful. They played nice, for my sake.

Mom’s embrace was warm at first. In her arms, I could feel her love. She smelled like lavender and worry, her heartbeat fast beneath my ear. For a moment, I let myself believe this was what a mother’s love was supposed to feel like.

But there was much more mixed in. Underneath the softness was a sharpness, a bitterness that tasted like regret.

After Grandma and Dad left, half-asleep, I heard a woman muttering resentfully: “I nearly lost half my life to give birth to you. Why couldn’t you be a boy…”

The words were quiet, but the sting was real. Even as a baby, I felt the ache—the weight of her disappointment settling over us both.

Night. Shadows stretched across the nursery. The old house creaked with every passing hour, secrets lurking in the dark.

A figure crept silently to the crib, placing a baby wrapped in a blanket with gold embroidery inside. The intruder’s movements were practiced, almost ritualistic. The moonlight caught the glint of gold threads, making the new baby look like something out of a fairy tale gone wrong.

I was startled awake, opening my eyes to see a strange baby with a heart-shaped birthmark on her ear. I blinked, confused and terrified, my own heartbeat echoing the panic in my mind. Something was very, very wrong.

I wanted to cry, but my mouth was covered with a handkerchief. The cloth smelled like starch and unfamiliar perfume. I fought to breathe, my tiny hands clawing at the air.

“Tina, what are you doing?”

Fortunately, Lillian woke and caught the maid’s actions, scolding her at once. Her voice was sharp, slicing through the tension. She leapt from bed, her nightgown trailing behind her like the cape of a fallen queen.

Tina knelt, calmly pulling a letter from her sleeve. The paper crinkled in her trembling hands. She was cold, efficient—a woman who knew her role in the Jennings drama.

“This is the Jennings family’s order. The little girl is so weak, she might not survive a few days. It’s better to bring the healthy cousin girl into the house.”

Her words sounded rehearsed, as if she’d practiced them in front of a mirror, steeling herself for the moment.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Newborns all look alike. No one will notice.”

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. I squirmed, desperate to break free.

No, don’t swap me out! My little fists thumped against the blanket, tiny protests lost in the thick silence of the room. Why is Mom letting this happen? Doesn’t she see I’m her real daughter? My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.

I waved my little hands, trying to stir my mother’s love. I reached for her, eyes wide with pleading. Somewhere, I hoped she’d feel the connection—the unbreakable bond between mother and child.

Lillian read the letter, her voice full of reluctance: “But—but this is my only daughter.” Her voice wavered, torn between fear and the instinct to protect.

“Ma’am, the Jennings men are still in jail. If anything happens, the cousin girl will be the only bloodline left. You and Mr. Jennings can have more kids in the future.”

The logic was cold, transactional—the way old family scandals are handled in silence and secrecy. The fate of a child traded like stock options.

Perhaps these words moved her. Mom fell silent for a long time, finally closing her eyes and sighing with grief. The silence was heavy, filled with the weight of generations. The house itself seemed to mourn as she made her decision.

“Find her a good family.”

The words landed like a death sentence. Even the moon seemed to shy away from the window. My heart suddenly sank, as if an invisible hand had gripped it, making it hard to breathe.

It was a pain beyond words, raw and deep—like a wound that would never fully heal. So being abandoned still hurts, no matter how many times it happens.

No amount of past lives or second chances could dull that ache. I curled into myself, wishing for the comfort of a mother’s love, even as it slipped away.

The moonlight lay like a thin veil over the red brick mansion walls. The air was cool and heavy, filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the distant hum of traffic. The old house loomed, its windows dark except for the faint glow from the nursery.

I lay in a cramped picnic basket, listening to hurried footsteps outside, already imagining the dramatic scene when I’d return to expose the fake daughter. The basket creaked beneath me. I pressed my cheek to the rough fabric, listening to the crunch of gravel, the hurried whisper of shoes scuffing the driveway. My mind raced, picturing the day I’d come back, triumphant and whole.

I didn’t know how long I held on before my tiny body finally gave in to exhaustion and I fell into a deep sleep. Sleep came like a thief, stealing away my fear and anger. I let go, trusting that somehow, some way, I’d survive.

When I woke again, I caught a sliver of light. The world was different—colder, harsher. The light was thin, struggling through the branches of an ancient oak outside the estate walls.

The river slapped against the stones on the bank, the sky faintly white. Mist curled along the riverbank, the water churning softly in the early dawn. Somewhere, a bird called—a lonely sound in the empty morning.

A woman took me from the basket, her sharp eyes flashing with cruelty. “Little miss, don’t blame me for being ruthless.”

Her grip was hard, her voice colder than the river. She looked at me like a problem to be solved, not a child to be saved.

“Only if you die can the cousin girl be safe, and I can answer to the family’s trust.”

Her words were heavy, full of old grievances and fresh betrayals. I felt the world tilt beneath me, the river roaring in my ears.

Help! Help! My cries were swallowed by the night, lost among the reeds and the stones. I kicked, but my limbs were too small, my voice too weak.

So it wasn’t a swap—they wanted to kill me. The realization hit like ice water. My life wasn’t just being traded away—it was being erased.

Desperate, my survival instinct kicked in and I let out a tremendous wail. It was louder than before—raw, primal, shaking the air around us. For a moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, someone would hear.

Tina ignored me, raising her hand to throw me into the river. Her arm tensed, eyes narrowed. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the cold shock of water.

At that moment—

Two sharp cracks split the air—a security guard’s warning shots. Tina screamed, dropping me as strong arms caught me from behind.