Chapter 3: Unraveling the Truth

The couple’s last name was Young. It sounded strange and fancy—like something you’d read on the side of a country club mailbox or hear announced at a gala. The kind of name you’d never associate with my family.

As they explained, the story gradually became clear. Everyone gathered around, curiosity overpowering the discomfort. Dad crossed his arms, Mom kept her face impassive, and even Duke sat down, as if he didn’t want to miss a word.

Eighteen years ago, they were on their way to check out a construction project when they got caught in a landslide. The wife was so frightened, she went into premature labor and was rushed to the nearest hospital—Maple Heights Hospital. It was a small-town hospital, and only two women gave birth that day, both to daughters.

It sounded like something out of one of those late-night Lifetime movies—disaster, chaos, and a twist of fate in a sleepy little town. I imagined the old hospital, probably with peeling linoleum floors and a humming Coke machine in the lobby.

Somehow, the babies were swapped, and each family took home the wrong child. Neighbors murmured, and Mom’s hand went to her mouth. It was the kind of thing people whispered about but never believed could happen so close to home.

If the Youngs’ younger daughter hadn’t recently been in a car accident, which led to a blood transfusion and a discovery that her blood type didn’t match, the truth might never have come out.

Emily’s accident had uncovered the secret, and now the truth was out—one slip of paperwork, one accident, and lives changed forever. You could see the weight of it in the Youngs’ faces.

A plot straight out of a soap opera had actually happened to us. It was almost surreal, like the whole world had shifted onto its side. Suddenly, my life felt scripted by some unseen writer.

My parents’ faces darkened as they listened. Dad’s jaw tightened. Mom’s eyes glistened, and my siblings shuffled their feet, glancing between me and the Youngs as if seeing me for the first time.

I’d always been a bit different from them. I remembered all the times people had remarked that I didn’t quite fit the family mold—the way my hair curled, the way my skin burned in the sun, my constant coughs and sniffles in the spring.

The Miller family’s kids were all big and sturdy, but I was small-boned and sickly since childhood. They joked that a strong wind could blow me away. My brother called me "half-pint," and my sister always made me wear two sweaters, even in early fall.

Looking closer, my features didn’t resemble my parents at all, but I was about eighty percent similar to the middle-aged man. It was like seeing my own future staring back at me—same nose, same nervous frown. My heart beat faster as I realized how true the resemblance was.

Dad didn’t believe it and took me for a DNA test. He didn’t say much that night, just loaded me into the truck and drove us to a clinic in town. I watched the world blur past through the window, trying to memorize every little detail.

Dad squeezed my shoulder in the waiting room, his hand rough and steady. I pretended not to notice how his leg bounced the whole time. The result was clear as day.

I really wasn’t my parents’ child. It was right there on the printout, the cold certainty of science. Mom’s hand shook as she read it, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

I wasn’t Abby Miller, but Abby Young. The words felt foreign and heavy, like wearing someone else’s coat.

I was the true daughter of a wealthy family—the real deal. Suddenly, everything I’d ever daydreamed about—mansions, fancy dresses, birthday parties with cake taller than me—felt within reach. But it also felt scary, like stepping onto a stage without knowing my lines.

When the results came out, my parents were full of complicated emotions. Dad stared off into the middle distance, tapping the counter with his fingers. Mom kept rearranging the salt and pepper shakers, her eyes shiny. My siblings hovered awkwardly, not sure what to say.

My brother scratched his head. He looked a little lost, his familiar lopsided smile gone. “Guess this means our little tagalong’s headed for bigger things, huh?”

"Well, the little sister I’ve spoiled all these years is going to someone else’s house now."

He tried to sound casual, but his voice cracked a little at the end. He cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to check his phone, but I saw his eyes shining.

My sister bit her lip, anxious. She glanced at me, her hands wringing together. “What if… what if she forgets us?”

She tried to laugh, but her voice wobbled. “Does this mean you’re really leaving us?”

Then both of them turned to me in unison. They looked determined, standing shoulder to shoulder in that way siblings do when the world feels uncertain.

"Sis, in all those novels, the real daughter always gets the short end of the stick. You’re so timid and not at all cunning—what are you going to do?"

My mind went blank. I felt exposed, as if the future had been ripped open and I was standing at the edge, peering in.

I panicked. Yeah. What am I going to do?

The only thing I knew for sure was that life as I’d known it had just ended, and I was about to step into the unknown.