I never trusted my son’s new wife. On the surface, she was perfect—sweet, attentive, loving toward the kids—but my instincts screamed danger. I couldn’t let her be alone with my grandchildren, though my son insisted I was being unreasonable.
Then one evening, she mentioned she was adopted and showed an old baby photo. My heart stopped. That birthmark, that face—I recognized it instantly. The daughter I had given up years ago, the child I had mourned in secret… she had grown up to be my son’s wife.
Everything made sense now: the unease, the familiarity, the unshakable dread. My protective instincts weren’t wrong—they were warning me of something far worse than harm: my own daughter had unknowingly married her half-brother.
The home that should have been filled with joy suddenly felt like a house of shattered hearts.
