I’m an ordinary working-class woman, living in a small town and raising a family. When my daughter turned thirteen, I found out that she was actually the only daughter of the Johnson Corporation’s CEO. Years ago, there had been a mix-up at the hospital, and my biological daughter had been raised by the Johnson family. I didn’t hesitate. I immediately brought my real daughter home. I didn’t want the confusion over their identities to torment them for the rest of their lives, nor did I want them to be caught in lifelong resentment and hatred. Both girls are my daughters, and I love them equally. Madison, the girl raised by mistake, had lived with me for thirteen years. We were incredibly close—mother and daughter, friends, even best friends. She never hid anything from me. We watched TV shows together, read novels, played video games, and attended comic conventions side by side. Once, while sitting on the couch watching a soap opera about a mix-up between an heiress and an imposter, Madison asked me, “Why can’t they just get along? Why do they have to fight to the bitter end? The lady treats both of them so well.” “Probably because the script demands it,” I shrugged. “The more dramatic it is, the higher the ratings.” We never imagined that this storyline would become Madison’s reality. Mr. Johnson called me to tell me that Madison was his biological daughter and that he wanted to take her back to the Johnson family. I was stunned, and so was Madison. She said it had to be a scam and refused to go. But after looking at the DNA test results sent by the Johnson family, I knew they wouldn’t joke about something like this. Eventually, the Johnson family came to take Madison. A Rolls-Royce pulled up outside our old apartment building, drawing the attention of everyone in the neighborhood. Madison was nervous and uneasy; she was about to meet the parents she had never known. My husband and I stood downstairs with her as they arrived. I asked the person picking her up, “Can I go with Madison to the Johnson home?” The person hesitated and called Mrs. Johnson. “You may,” Mrs. Johnson replied. Madison visibly relaxed, clearly happy that I was coming along. We took the Rolls-Royce to the airport. The Johnson family didn’t live in this small town; they were based in San Francisco. On the private plane they’d arranged, Madison was ecstatic. It was her first time flying, and she spent the entire flight gazing out the window at the clouds, exclaiming, “Mom, it’s so beautiful!” Watching her excitement stirred complicated feelings within me. I didn’t know whether this swap of identities would be a blessing or a curse for both Madison and my biological daughter, Savannah. Yes, my real daughter was Savannah Johnson. I had come to the Johnson family partly to support Madison but also to bring my biological daughter, Savannah, back home. When we arrived in San Francisco, I was flooded with emotions. Years ago, when my husband and I visited San Francisco, I’d gone into early labor at a hospital here. That’s when Madison and Savannah were mistakenly switched, sending them down different paths for the first thirteen years of their lives. The Johnson mansion was opulent, with a pool, gardens, and a gym. Everything Madison had never known was now hers. Everything Savannah had grown used to was no longer hers. I wondered how these two girls would handle the stark contrast between their lives. Mrs. Johnson stood before me, stunning and impeccably groomed, with an air of grace and elegance. “Thank you for taking such good care of Madison for the past thirteen years,” she said, hugging Madison close, unable to look away from her. Standing next to her was a young girl, whom I guessed was Savannah—my biological daughter. She resembled me, but her expression was troubled, her eyes unreadable. I stepped forward and embraced her. She resisted at first, but in the end, didn’t pull away. I gently stroked her cheek and said to Mrs. Johnson, “Thank you for taking care of my daughter for these past thirteen years. She’s beautiful, and she looks a lot like me.” “I’m planning to catch the evening flight back to Cedarville with Savannah,” I added. “We’re on a tight schedule, so we’ll head out.” For a moment, no one spoke. Mrs. Johnson, Savannah, and Madison all remained silent. After a while, Mrs. Johnson finally said, “I love Savannah. She’s my daughter too. She can stay here with Madison if she wants.” Savannah visibly stiffened and swayed slightly. “Mom,” Madison and Savannah both called out, though Madison was speaking to me and Savannah to Mrs. Johnson. Savannah was the first to speak up. “Mom, I’m going back with my mom.” “Don’t overthink it, Savannah. You’ll always be my daughter. You can stay,” Mrs. Johnson urged, her affection for Savannah evident. I smiled. “Savannah is my daughter too. I haven’t seen her for thirteen years, and I’ve missed her dearly.” The Johnsons were a wealthy family, offering a world of resources and status that I could never give to either Savannah or Madison. Mrs. Johnson was kind and loved both girls deeply. But I knew that Madison returning to the Johnson family and Savannah coming home with me was the best decision for both of them. I couldn’t irresponsibly leave my biological daughter behind, nor could I selfishly keep Madison, ruining her future. “As mothers, we both love our children. I hope you understand,” I said. Mrs. Johnson didn’t argue further and agreed. Before we left, I told Madison she was welcome to visit us anytime she missed me or my husband. Mrs. Johnson also assured Savannah that she would always love her and that the Johnson home would always be open to her. That night, Savannah and I boarded the plane back to Cedarville.
On the flight, Savannah remained silent, and so did I. I could tell she was struggling. Her first thirteen years had been secure, comfortable, and privileged. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had treated her like the apple of their eye. Now, she had been told that everything she knew was a lie, and that I was her real mother. Anyone would have a hard time accepting that. As I stared out at the dark clouds, I wondered how I could help her come to terms with everything and build a relationship with her. By the time we landed in Cedarville, it was late at night. Both of us were hungry, so I suggested we grab a bite to eat before heading home. She nodded in agreement. I knew of a little diner at the intersection of two streets downtown that served great food. The alleyways in Cedarville were narrow and tricky to navigate—only locals really knew how to find this place. Even though Cedarville wasn’t as bustling as San Francisco, it had its own charm, with bright lights filling the night sky. Savannah had never been to a place like this. Though she didn’t say much, I could see her excitement in her wide-eyed curiosity. Her eyes gleamed as they reflected the lively scene around us—the food carts passing by, the small, low stools and chairs, and the simple disposable utensils wrapped in cheap napkins. I pulled her toward a little diner that sold burgers and hotdogs, the one I frequented. “Do you like spicy food?” I asked Savannah. She shook her head. “Hey, Mike,” I called to the owner. “Two large mac and cheese, one with spice and one without.” “Got it,” Mike replied. “And two bottles of Coke, right?” I added. Savannah gave me a surprised look. It was late in the fall, and she hadn’t expected me to order iced drinks. Not long after, two steaming plates of mac and cheese arrived, along with two cold bottles of Coca-Cola. I grabbed a bottle opener and expertly popped the caps off both sodas. “How did you do that?” Savannah asked, clearly impressed. She hadn’t learned how to open glass bottles yet. I laughed and called out, “Mike, bring two more Cokes!” I picked up the opener again. “Watch closely.” I popped another cap off with a quick flick. “Here, your turn,” I said, handing her the opener. Savannah hesitated before taking it. She tried twice but couldn’t quite get the cap off. “You’ve got to hook the lip of the opener under the cap,” I explained, guiding her hand, “and then use a bit of force.” With a pop, the bottle opened. Savannah looked up at me, pleased, but the joy quickly faded, and she dropped her gaze again. I knew she still harbored resentment toward me, still uneasy about my decision to bring her home. I sighed. “I know you’re struggling to accept me as your mother, and you’re upset that I took you away from the Johnsons.” Savannah gripped her Coke bottle, then relaxed her hold. Her reaction didn’t surprise me; I expected her to feel this way. “When Mrs. Johnson asked if you could stay, why didn’t you agree?” “I didn’t want to make Mom feel awkward,” she whispered softly, still calling Mrs. Johnson “Mom.” I took a sip of my Coke, the cold liquid refreshing. “Savannah, in this situation, staying with the Johnsons would have made things uncomfortable for you.” “No, it wouldn’t,” she said firmly. I didn’t push the issue further. “Eat up. The food won’t taste as good once it gets cold.” I picked up my fork and dug into the mac and cheese. It was delicious—neither too greasy nor too dry, just right. Savannah eyed the simple plates and utensils, hesitating, but then took her first bite. After swallowing, her expression shifted to surprise, and she continued eating. “Tastes better than you thought, huh?” I laughed. “Sometimes, you don’t know what you like until you give it a try,” I said, watching her with a smile. We were both starving from the long day, and soon, we’d finished two large plates of mac and cheese and four bottles of Coke. To be precise, Savannah had one bottle, and I drank the other three out of a sense of not wanting to waste them. Savannah watched me drink the last of the soda and then remarked, “You’re really different from Mrs. Johnson.” I chuckled. “Oh, you’ll see. There are plenty more differences.” After dinner, we walked home. It was dark, with only the faint yellow glow from the streetlights guiding our way. Savannah pulled her suitcase behind her, keeping her distance from me. We trudged along in silence, step by step, until we finally reached our apartment complex. Our building was old, with six floors and no elevator. The motion-sensor lights in the stairwell barely worked. Savannah stared up at the dark, seemingly endless stairwell and shrank back a little. “Let me carry your suitcase for you,” I offered. She handed it over without protest, and I led her up the stairs to our apartment on the sixth floor. “Savannah, welcome home,” I said when we reached the door. She took a moment to glance around, though there wasn’t much to see in the dark. “That mac and cheese was really good,” she said out of nowhere. Then she added, “And the Coke was nice too.” I unlocked the door, one hand on Savannah’s shoulder as I pushed it open. “Welcome home,” I repeated.
Once inside, I found a pair of new slippers for Savannah, not wanting to give her Madison’s old ones. Our apartment was small, just three bedrooms and a living room. One room was mine and James’s, one had been Madison’s, and the other belonged to her younger sister, Emma, who was away at boarding school. Since Emma was rarely home, I decided Savannah could stay in her room for now. Madison’s room still had all of her things in it, and I didn’t want Savannah to feel uncomfortable seeing them. I’d get it ready for her tomorrow. “Savannah, this is your sister Emma’s room. You can sleep here tonight, and I’ll have your own room ready tomorrow,” I told her. “Okay,” she nodded. Savannah walked into the room and turned on the light. The space was small—tiny compared to her room at the Johnson mansion. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a closet, and a simple bookshelf made from cheap materials. On the shelves were a few scattered children’s books, some school supplies, a worn-out dictionary, and an old English dictionary with frayed edges. Savannah frowned as she sat on the bed. I knew she felt awkward, unsure of how to adjust to her new surroundings. “Here’s a new set of pajamas for you,” I said, handing her a neatly folded pile of clothes. “The sheets are fresh too, so you don’t need to worry,” I added. “It’s not that, I just…I’m not used to it,” Savannah admitted quietly. “I understand,” I said, touching her hand gently. “Let me know if you need anything,” I said as I turned to leave. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” I said as I left the room, leaving the lights on. I kept the light in the living room on as well, in case she got up in the night and needed to find her way to the bathroom. That night, I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. I was worried about how Savannah would handle the transition, and whether Madison was adjusting to life at the Johnson home. My mind raced, and I wasn’t sure when I finally fell asleep. The next morning, I was up by seven. Savannah had probably been exhausted from the previous day, so I didn’t wake her. Instead, I went about tidying up Madison’s old room, swapping out the sheets and packing away her figurines and collectibles. I noticed that Savannah’s suitcase had a Golden Retriever drawn on it, and her phone case also featured a Golden Retriever. Quietly, I made a note to pick up a Golden Retriever pillow for her later. After cleaning up Madison’s room, I prepared breakfast and left a note for Savannah on the table. I headed out to the farmer’s market, buying a fresh fish, some ribs, and a few vegetables. On my way back, I passed a new toy store and picked out a Golden Retriever stuffed animal and a matching pillow. When I returned home, Savannah had just woken up and was getting ready for the day. I set the breakfast on the coffee table: golden-brown donuts, rich and creamy soy milk, freshly sliced pickles, tofu covered in a tangy sauce, and steaming tea eggs. The smell of food filled the house. “Good morning,” Savannah said nervously. “Well, it’s not really morning anymore,” she added sheepishly. “I slept in too late.” “Come eat,” I said, placing a donut on her plate. “I love pairing pickles and tofu with donuts. I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but we can always switch it up if you don’t,” I told her. I stood up and asked, “Want some spicy kimchi or pickled veggies? I’ve also got vinegar and hot sauce in the kitchen.” “No, no, this is fine,” Savannah replied quickly. She sat up straight while eating, carefully holding her chopsticks, chewing silently, and maintaining an elegant posture, just like a princess. After breakfast, I went to wash the dishes, and Savannah hesitated, as if she wanted to help but didn’t know how to ask. “Savannah, could you help me dry the dishes after I wash them?” I asked. “Of course,” she said, rushing over. It was clear she wasn’t used to this kind of work, moving awkwardly as she dried the plates, but I patiently waited as she finished each one before handing her the next. “Savannah, how about grilled fish and barbecue ribs for lunch? I picked up some fresh fish at the market this morning.” “That sounds good,” she said. After we finished cleaning up, I took her hand and led her to her room. “I tidied up Madison’s old room earlier. Take a look and see if you need anything else,” I said. “Oh, and I got these for you,” I added, handing her the Golden Retriever stuffed animal and pillow. “Savannah, how about we put these on the bed?” I suggested. “Okay,” she nodded. I placed the plush toy and pillow on her bed. “There’s a new toy store near the market,” I explained, “I wasn’t sure what to get, so I picked these. Next time, let’s go together and pick out more of what you like.” I watched her nervously, hoping she’d like them. She gently touched the stuffed animal, and then, unexpectedly, tears began streaming down her face, soaking the soft fur of the Golden Retriever. I stood there silently, not knowing what to say, leaning against the wall. Savannah hugged the plush toy tightly. “Savannah?” I whispered softly. She broke down, crying uncontrollably. The sudden shift in her life had been too much for a thirteen-year-old to handle. She had been holding back her emotions for too long, ever since the DNA test results came out. I walked over and embraced her, gently stroking her back. This time, she didn’t resist and sobbed in my arms, her tears soaking my shirt. But they weren’t cold; they were warm, carrying the heat of her small body. “Mom,” Savannah finally cried out. “Mom, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Savannah. I’m just so happy, so happy,” I said, holding her tightly. It felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of us in that moment. “It feels like my first thirteen years were stolen from me,” Savannah choked out. “When I saw the DNA test, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want it to be real.” “I know, sweetie, I know,” I said, brushing her hair. “This wasn’t your fault. I love you, and Mrs. Johnson loves you too.” She stayed in my arms, crying until she had no more strength left. I held her the entire time. Sometimes, you just need to cry it all out. Finally, Savannah calmed down. I handed her some tissues to wipe away her tears. “Now, do you think your room needs anything else?” I asked. “No, it’s fine,” Savannah said quietly. “Do you like any particular colors? Maybe we can change the bedding,” I offered. “Green,” she said after thinking for a moment. “A deeper green, like the color of tree leaves in the summer.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture. “Got it. I’ll make sure your bedding is that exact shade of green,” I smiled at her. Together, we changed the bedsheets and added a few potted flowers around the room. Savannah looked around, satisfied. “Not bad,” she said with a small smile. That afternoon, around five, Emma came home. Since she stayed at her school most of the time, she didn’t yet know about the mix-up between Savannah and Madison. As soon as she walked in, she called out, “Sis, sis!” “Emma, I need to tell you something,” I said. “What is it, Mom? Hurry, I want to hang out with my sister!” Emma said impatiently. “Madison is actually the only daughter of the Johnson family. Savannah is your real sister. They were switched at birth,” I explained. Emma stared at me, clearly confused. “What are you talking about, Mom? What Johnson family? What Savannah?” she asked, her face scrunching up. I told her the whole story, and from her expression, I could tell she understood. But she refused to accept it. “No, Mom, you’re lying! You’re lying to me! Madison is my real sister. We even have the same last name! She’s been my sister ever since I was born.” Emma shouted and ran to Savannah’s room. “Sis, sis!” she yelled, but when she saw Savannah instead of Madison, she cried out, “Who are you? You’re not my sister! Get out! Give me back my sister! Go back to your Johnson family!”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294959”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #惊悚Thriller #励志Inspiring
Leave a Reply