The Fake Daughter Abused Her Own Son By Mistake

An hour before the D&C procedure, a post popped up on my phone.

[What’s your definition of a ‘living the dream’ life?]

One comment was pinned to the top, flooded with likes.

[I have the perfect answer for this. I’m the spoiled, beloved fake daughter.]

[I not only enjoyed eighteen years of luxury that belonged to that idiot, but the man she married now? He was my sloppy seconds, my devoted lapdog.]

[The moment she came home, I developed ‘depression.’ To keep me calm, my parents have yet to legally acknowledge her. To the outside world, she’s still just their adopted girl.]

[She worked herself to the bone to climb to a CEO position. But because I said ‘I want that, too,’ her husband—who just happens to be her biggest client—started making her life hell. My parents, of course, just handed the job to me.]

[The kicker? The night before their wedding, I told him I was feeling ‘lonely,’ and we celebrated in her new marital bed.]

The text was dripping with self-satisfied glee.

While other commenters tore into her, she only grew more brazen, posting a photo: several blurred tickets for a trip.

[Just because I mentioned I didn’t want her to have a baby, her husband is forcing her to have an abortion.]

[The funniest part? She’s sitting in the waiting room alone right now. Her parents, and her husband, are all with me, taking a relaxing trip to Miami.]

[I was born under a lucky star. What does she have that could possibly compare?]

I stared at the image on my screen. It matched the recent vacation photos Savannah Wilde had posted on social media.

The hospital hallway was vast and empty. I was completely alone.

The idiot she was talking about.

It was me.

1

Faced with a deluge of angry internet comments, Savannah Wilde wasn’t shamed; she was emboldened.

[Yell all you want. The angrier you are, the more it proves how much they love me. I am the Stones’ darling. I am the one his heart belongs to.]

Below, she attached another photo. A slender hand, a diamond band on the ring finger.

I knew that design intimately. It was identical to the ring Owen Miller wore daily.

Her next reply jumped up, the tone thick with boastful contempt:

[See? I casually mentioned, ‘It’s disgusting to touch me while wearing someone else’s wedding ring,’ so he tossed out their cheap little matching set.]

[This one? We went and picked it out together. Engraved couple’s rings.]

[In this world, the unloved one is the outsider. I’m the real wife.]

My gaze locked onto that ring. A chill began to spread from my core.

A three-year-old memory stabbed me.

That day, I’d noticed Owen’s wedding band was missing. He’d frantically checked all his pockets, then pulled me into a hug, full of remorse: “Honey, I must have lost it on a business trip. I’m such an idiot.”

He’d cooed softly, “Punish me, however you like.”

I believed him. I gave him my complete trust.

A week later, a strange, new ring appeared on his finger.

I pursed my lips and asked, “Where did this one come from?”

He’d held up his hand for me to see, his expression a mixture of feigned frustration and ingratiation.

“I accidentally put it on when sampling a new design at the office. Now I can’t get it off. If you hate it, Eliza, I’ll take a wrench to it, I swear. Just say the word.”

My heart had softened. I held his hand. “Don’t be silly… Just wear it for now. If it’s uncomfortable, we’ll figure out how to take it off. It’s actually quite handsome.”

Their couple’s ring.

The wedding band he’d discarded, and the nascent life inside me, were nothing more than ugly, laughable roadblocks on the path of their true love.

The comment section was boiling, angry replies streaming in. Savannah’s original post remained the top hot comment.

Countless kind strangers were desperately trying to sound the alarm.

[Spread the word! Let the real daughter see this! Get out now!]

[Hugs to the true daughter. Be strong. He’s not worth it!]

Tears streamed down my face. Finally, I signed the consent form for the termination.

Owen Miller didn’t deserve for me to bear his child.

Stepping out of the operating room, the hollow, dull ache in my body forced me to clutch the railing just to move.

My phone vibrated. It was Owen.

I answered. His voice came through the receiver immediately.

“Honey, did you… did you go through with the procedure?”

“We have Finn. That’s enough. You absolutely have to get rid of this one, don’t let Finn get upset.”

2

“Honey? Can you hear me?”

Owen’s voice was relayed through the earpiece, carrying a trace of deliberately suppressed urgency.

After a brief silence, he raised his tone. “Hello?”

“I can hear you.” The moment I spoke, a sharp pang shot through my lower abdomen—the specific, heavy ache of being emptied out.

I had to bend over, pressing my arm tightly against my stomach.

But compared to the physical pain, the place in my heart that was being repeatedly shredded was far more suffocating.

“So… is it done?” he asked, his impatience no longer hidden.

I gritted my teeth, fiercely suppressing the heat and sting welling up in my eyes, forcing two words out from between my teeth: “It’s done.”

On the other end of the line, I could distinctly hear his sigh of relief, even a faint, easy laugh.

“Good girl, honey.” His voice returned to its usual softness, laced with the gentle, practiced tone he always used to coax me.

“I’ll bring you a gift when I’m back from my business trip.”

I managed a tight, cynical smile, but offered no reply.

My silence made him mistake my anger for missing him. He went on, “Oh, honey, I know you had it tough. I’ll go the extra mile to make it up to you when I get home. How does that sound?”

But his patience lasted less than two seconds. Before I could respond, his tone quickened. “Gotta run, I have to hop on a call. My wife is the most understanding woman in the world. Gotta hang up now.”

Beep—

The dial tone was abrupt, uncompromising.

After that call, Owen Miller vanished completely.

Three whole days, zero contact.

In the past, I would have immediately concocted excuses for him: He’s too busy, I shouldn’t bother him.

Then I would have left a few nervous, sweet messages in his chat every day—Remember to eat, get some rest—and felt moved by his supposed dedication to our little family.

Now, I realized how utterly ridiculous that was.

Busy? He wasn’t busy.

He had merely removed an “inconvenience,” and he was now, undoubtedly, sharing the “good news” with the woman who held the center of his heart.

Three days later, I was in the living room, building blocks with our son, Finn.

He strode in, suitcase in tow, first giving a quick, affectionate hug to Finn and handing him a toy the boy had been begging for.

“Be a good boy, Finn. Go play in your room. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy.”

He turned to me, his eyes carrying that familiar, suggestive spark.

Before, that hint of intimacy would have made my cheeks flush.

Now, all I felt was a wave of nausea.

Finn, holding his new toy, obediently went upstairs.

Owen immediately wrapped his arms around me from behind, rubbing his chin on the back of my neck, his voice full of flattery.

“Still mad at me, honey? I messed up, I know. I was a jerk for not being there when you needed me most. I promise, never again.”

I pulled free from his embrace and turned to face him. “Owen Miller, how many times have you promised that this month?”

His face stiffened.

I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “The eighth. Our anniversary. You promised to spend the night with me, then one call pulled you away. You didn’t show up for two days.”

“Mid-month. I wasn’t feeling well. You promised to take me to the doctor, but you ditched me halfway there.”

“And then, this procedure…”

Tallying them up, I was stunned to realize how transparent his lies and excuses were.

He hadn’t been a good liar; I had simply blinded myself.

A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, quickly suppressed, replaced by a helpless smile.

“Honey, let’s not drag up old fights. I work for us, for our family, don’t I?”

Seeing I wasn’t moved, he pulled a small box from his pocket. He opened it—it was a necklace. “Look, a peace offering. I got it just for you. Let me put it on…”

I stepped aside, avoiding his touch.

His hand froze mid-air.

I looked up, my voice steady. “I just had a miscarriage, I need rest. You should sleep in the guest room tonight.”

Leaving him staring in shock, I turned and walked upstairs.

The moment I entered the bedroom, my phone buzzed.

I opened it. It was a photo Savannah Wilde had posted on the forum.

When I saw the contents, a trembling rage overtook me.

3

Savannah’s latest update was a photo of a pet.

A dog, wearing a necklace.

Below it, her smug explanation:

[That idiot is actually throwing a tantrum. I was generous and gave her husband my little Prince’s old collar. Let him use it to calm her down. Ha, I wonder if she’ll cry with gratitude when she sees her ‘gift’?]

I stared, transfixed. The necklace on the dog’s neck was the exact one Owen had tried to give me moments ago.

Eight years of marriage, and in his eyes, I was worth less than a dog.

A huge wave of disappointment gave way to a towering, blinding anger. A rage so complete that, paradoxically, it made me feel cold and calm.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly forced the anger down.

“Honey, stop being mad. I genuinely messed up.”

Owen pushed the door open, a playful look on his face.

He held out a slightly faded pink card, as if performing a magic trick. “Here. A one-time ‘No-Fuss, No-Fight’ card. Please accept it, my queen.”

I took it, confused.

The card’s edges were slightly yellowed, and the date was ten years ago. I hadn’t even met him then.

The small, trailing red heart at the bottom was exactly the way Savannah always signed her notes.

The last warmth in my heart died.

I heard my own voice, dry and thin. “Get out. I don’t want to look at you right now.”

He frowned, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. “Eliza Harrison, that’s enough. Dragging this out only makes me tired.”

He slammed the door shut and left.

I stood there, clutching the flimsy card, my fingers ice-cold.

My phone rang abruptly.

I answered, and my mother’s voice immediately hammered me with blame. “Eliza Harrison! Can you please start acting like an adult? Owen already made a sacrifice to marry you. Why are you making such a scene? He’s so busy with work. Can’t you be more understanding?”

“Mom,” I cut her off, my voice so steady it surprised me.

“I just had a miscarriage.”

The other end was silent for two seconds. Her tone softened slightly. “A miscarriage… it’s not the end of the world. Owen only did it for your own good, for Finn’s sake.”

“I called you a dozen times,” I said. “Owen was busy on a business trip. Where were you?”

Without waiting for an answer, I hung up.

Immediately, texts from several mutual friends started trickling in—all the usual advice: Couples shouldn’t let the sun set on a fight, Owen is so sweet to you, we’re all jealous, he posted an apology for you on social media, go check it out.

I opened Owen Miller’s social media.

The latest post, ten minutes ago:

[Kicked out of the bedroom after a long night of work. Guess the gift will keep me company tonight.]

The photo was of that hideous necklace.

It already had several likes and comments, teasing him as a “Wife Guy.” He replied uniformly:

[I have to spoil my queen. Going to the auction tomorrow. I’ll go to any lengths to get her that rare Buccellati Filigree Cuff. Otherwise, I might be sleeping alone for good…]

The comments section was full of good-natured laughter and encouragement.

I scrolled up, expressionless.

Every single one of his posts seemed carefully designed to cultivate the image of a devoted husband.

But how could a man who couldn’t remember his wife’s taste be devoted?

I detested ornate, attention-grabbing pieces.

That loud, statement cuff? That was Savannah Wilde’s favorite style.

I calmly screenshotted his post, putting it side-by-side with Savannah’s photo of the dog collar.

Just then, Savannah’s forum post updated again:

[Looks like the idiot is really mad. Tsk. I’m having Mom arrange a family dinner. Time to put her in her place. She really doesn’t know how good she has it.]

A curious commenter asked:

[If you hate her so much, why not just make her leave? With your family’s status, you could easily kick her out. Why drag this on?]

Savannah instantly replied:

[She will leave eventually, but not yet. She’s still useful. I haven’t dropped my ‘big move’ yet. Why let her off easy? Just thinking about the look on her face when she finds out the truth. Ha! I’m too excited to sleep.]

“Big move”?

I stared at the words, a sudden coldness creeping up my spine.

My phone vibrated again. A text from my mother:

“Family dinner tonight. You must be here.”

I gazed at the screen for a moment, then calmly replied:

“Okay.”

I was actually quite curious about Savannah Wilde’s ‘big move.’

4

After picking up Finn, I drove straight to the Wilde estate.

Just outside the door, I saw a small figure huddled in the corner of the steps—Savannah’s son, Leo.

He was wearing clothes that were clearly too small and faded, sitting alone and staring into space.

Calculating the time…

But a mother like Savannah was clearly unfit. Regardless, I shouldn’t involve children in adult drama.

I pushed down the slight discomfort in my heart, took Finn’s hand, and walked over, leaning down and softening my voice as much as possible. “Why are you sitting out here? It’s cold. Auntie brought some snacks. Would you like one?”

Leo lifted his face. His pale eyes, remarkably similar to Owen’s, held a sadness far beyond his years.

He rubbed his hands together and whispered, “Mommy said I’m not allowed inside… Mommy gets mad.”

Just as I offered him a pastry, Savannah rushed out like a whirlwind and slapped it from my hand!

The pastry rolled onto the mud.

“Who said you could take that? Huh? You little brat, are you asking for a beating?!” Her sharp voice cut through the air.

Leo immediately covered his head, his body curling into a defensive ball, a gesture that spoke of routine.

“Mommy, I’m scared…” Finn clutched my trouser leg, his voice trembling.

At the sound of Finn’s voice, Savannah’s expression instantly flipped. She plastered on a gentle smile and scooped Finn up in a hug.

“Don’t be scared, Finn. Auntie wasn’t yelling at you. Auntie bought you the newest remote-control car. Let’s go play.”

She turned and carried Finn inside. As she passed me, she threw me a look of contemptuous triumph.

A fleeting idea zipped through my mind, but before I could grasp it, Owen’s voice sounded behind me.

“Honey! I knew you’d wait for me.” His tone was light as always, as if nothing unpleasant had happened between us.

He hurried over and held out a velvet box. “Look, the Verdura Filigree Cuff. I won the auction for you! Do you like it?”

I forced a small smile. “No need. I never liked that style.”

I didn’t look at his frozen face. I gently took Leo’s cold little hand. “Let’s go inside with Auntie.”

The moment we stepped into the living room, Savannah called out to Owen, who was following close behind.

“Owen! Finn is just too much fun!”

“Come help me! I can’t handle him!”

Savannah giggled, hiding behind Owen, who had walked over. Finn, holding a water gun, was gleefully spraying them.

Owen, smiling indulgently, shielded her. Water splashed his expensive shirt, but he laughed joyfully.

The three of them were a picture of a close-knit, intimate family.

I sat on the sofa, watching Leo beside me. He was staring down, his fingers anxiously picking at his pants seam. He was secretly glancing at the noisy trio, his eyes filled with undisguised envy and longing.

That fleeting thought from earlier suddenly crystallized, sharp and piercing, slamming into my head.

Panic seized my breath.

I quietly pulled out my phone, switched to the burner account I’d prepared, and opened Savannah’s private message window:

[Girl, saw your post. I feel your pain. But I was ‘smarter’ than you. I swapped the kids.]

[She can be the real heir all she wants, but in the end, the assets, the husband, they all go to my son, right?]

[Just a heads-up: you have to throw the lapdog a bone occasionally. My ‘Owen’ is starting to get restless. And the kid… you have to make sure he knows who to love.]

Send.

A few meters away, while playing with Finn, Savannah’s phone screen lit up. She looked down. The smug smile on her lips tightened slightly.

Soon, my burner account received a reply.

Reading the message on my screen, a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. Rage nearly overwhelmed me.

5

[OMG! Sister, you are my soulmate!]

[She IS raising my son! I got someone to swap ours too!]

[She can be the true heir all she wants, but the money, the shares—it’s all going to my son. Her son will have nothing, unloved and penniless!]

Seeing her reply, I felt a dizzying surge. Although I had suspected it, the confirmation nearly shattered my composure.

Savannah, drenched, leaned against Owen. Her thin top clung to her, revealing her curves.

Finn, my son, was tucked to her right, still clutching the water gun.

She looked up at me, a victorious smile she couldn’t suppress spread across her lips.

“Sister, you’re just too high and mighty,” she said, deliberately elongating her words.

“Look how much fun we’re having. Owen is still the best at protecting me, just like he always was.”

She stroked Finn’s head. “Finn is so attached to me, too…”

“Do you love Auntie, Finn?” she asked my son, watching me with triumph.

Finn, excited, chirped happily, “I love Auntie!”

I remained expressionless, turning to look at Owen beside them. “The child doesn’t know any better. But you don’t either?”

“You are her brother-in-law,” I reminded him, enunciating every word.

Owen’s face flashed with embarrassment, and he let out a dry laugh. “Honey, I just wanted to play with Finn. I wasn’t thinking anything of it…”

My calm gaze swept over the three of them, finally resting on Savannah’s face, which screamed, What are you going to do about it?

I ignored her taunt and beckoned to Finn, who was standing right next to her.

“Finn, come to Mommy. You’re soaked, you’ll catch a cold.” I spoke to him gently.

He immediately let go of Savannah’s hand and ran toward me.

I stroked his hair, smiling as I asked, “Who does little Finn love most?”

The next second, his clear, childlike voice rang through the living room. “Mommy! Finn loves Mommy the most!”

I let out a soft laugh, my eyes flicking to the darkening face of Savannah.

The smile on Savannah’s face instantly froze. Her fingers, still gripping Owen’s arm, tightened.

I met her eyes, a hook in my own smile. “A child’s deepest love is always for their mother. Everyone else… is just a momentary distraction.”

Savannah’s face contorted, her eyes turning bloodshot.

“Eliza!” Owen snarled, his face sinking into a scowl.

“Time to eat,” my father’s low voice cut in, having stayed silent until now.

Everyone took their seats. Savannah “naturally” sat beside Owen.

I sat across from them, with Leo on my left and Finn on my right.

Savannah clearly didn’t intend to let the last scene drop.

Her eyes gleamed as she sighed softly. “Honestly, Sister, your temper is getting worse. You should worry less about yourself and more about Mom and Dad, they’re not getting any younger.”

She glanced at me, then continued. “Owen works so hard outside the home. Can’t you be more considerate? Throwing temper tantrums like a schoolgirl won’t get you anywhere.”

My mother immediately frowned and scolded me. “Eliza, Savannah has a point. Owen is busy and stressed. You, as his wife, need to be gentle and understanding. Stop being so spoiled.”

My father didn’t speak but shot me a look of disapproval.

I quietly put down my chopsticks and began to speak, slowly.

“That day, when I had the procedure, there was no one outside the operating room. Were you all really busy? Or…”

I deliberately drew out the sound, just as Savannah had done earlier.

I smiled, finally looking at Owen. His knuckles, gripping his chopsticks, were white.

“And you, Owen? Were you really going to a ‘meeting’?”

The air froze instantly.

Owen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He opened his mouth but produced no sound.

My parents looked awkward, their voices gone.

Savannah shot me a look of pure hatred, but, uncharacteristically, didn’t immediately retort.

The only sounds in the dining room were faint breathing and the occasional clink of cutlery.

As the meal neared its end, a quiet Savannah spoke again. This time, the smile at her mouth was unrestrained. She looked at my father.

“Dad, I remember the merger agreement between the Harrison and Miller families stated that once we had a son, both families would contribute forty percent of their corporate shares as a gift to the child, correct?”

Her gentle gaze swept over Finn, who was sitting next to me. “Finn is getting so big now. Isn’t it time to transfer the shares into his name?”

My mother immediately nodded. “It should be taken care of immediately.”

My father looked thoughtful. He looked at Owen, then at Finn, nestled against me, his eyes weighing the matter.

I slowly scooped a spoon of soup, acting as if the matter didn’t concern me.

Yet I took in every expression: the flash of excitement in Owen’s eyes, the expectant, hidden smugness on Savannah’s face, and the hesitation of my parents.

“Sister, you don’t look happy? You’re Finn’s mother, after all.” Savannah noticed my silence, her smile deepening.

I looked up, meeting her gaze, my voice calm and even.

“Why the rush?”

“The agreement, written in black and white, specifies the ‘lawful, marital son of the Harrison and Miller families.’”

“You’re an imposter. Why are you in such a hurry?” I deliberately slowed my pace, clearly articulating the final words.

The smile on Savannah’s face completely shattered.