Heather and I gave birth on the same day, both to baby boys. That night, while we were under observation in the hospital, I saw Heather sneakily switch my baby with hers. I said nothing. Years later, Heather’s son, under my care, became an Ivy League PhD graduate. Meanwhile, my biological son dropped out of middle school to work in a steel factory, overworked himself to illness, and developed cirrhosis. When Martha begged me to pay for his treatment, Heather scoffed, saying, “Why waste money on that mutt? Better to save it for Ezra’s future wedding!” After my son’s death, Heather decided to reveal the baby swap at Ezra’s wedding, planning to reclaim him as her son. I simply smiled, knowingly. Content “You filthy mutt! Who said you could sit at the table to eat?!” Heather slapped Calvin so hard he fell to the ground. Martha rushed to help him up but was shoved aside by Heather. “Trash like you should have been smothered in the hospital!” she snapped. Heather’s tirades always lasted for hours. Whenever Martha or I tried to intervene, she’d deflect, blaming “poor discipline” during his childhood as the reason for his supposed failures. In reality, she was venting her resentment toward me. Heather gave Calvin his name—a throwaway, as insignificant as lint. “Mom, I’m home!” Ezra’s cheerful voice broke the tension. He ran to my arms, proudly holding up a perfect test paper for me to see. Before I could take it, Heather snatched it away. “Ezra, you’re amazing! Auntie has to reward you for this!” She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and stuffed it into Ezra’s pocket. “Buy yourself something nice! If it’s not enough, just come to me for more!” Ezra, though thrilled by the gesture, hesitated. He glanced at me for permission, his upbringing keeping him cautious. Meanwhile, Calvin, his face swollen from Heather’s earlier assault, silently watched as she handed Ezra the money. “What are you staring at?! It’s not for you!” Heather sneered, pushing Calvin. “With grades like yours, you’re not even worth a fraction of Ezra’s talent!” Calvin lowered his head, too scared to respond. But Heather wasn’t finished. She grabbed Calvin by his shirt collar, dragging him to the door. “Don’t you dare covet things that aren’t yours,” she spat. “You’re nothing more than a guard dog—a lowly mutt!” “Mom,” Calvin suddenly mustered the courage to ask, “Can I go do my homework? I’ll work hard to catch up to Ezra, I promise…” He looked at her pleadingly, desperate for any acknowledgment. Heather’s response was a harsh kick, sending him sprawling to the floor. “No matter how hard you try, you’ll never measure up to Ezra. You’re destined to be beneath him for the rest of your life!” I watched as Heather’s cruel words crushed Calvin’s fragile hope, snuffing out the light in his eyes. Martha couldn’t take it anymore and shielded Calvin. “How can you treat your own child like this?!” she scolded Heather. “You don’t get it, Mom,” Heather retorted. “This is tough-love parenting!” Unable to hold back, I countered, “Even tough love has limits. Constant belittling will only destroy a child’s spirit.” “Stay out of it, Clara,” Heather snapped, bristling like a porcupine. “You focus on Ezra. Calvin is none of your business.” In truth, I only ever spoke up—I never truly saved Calvin from the hell he endured. 2 Martha fretted over Calvin’s treatment but didn’t say much. After all, Heather’s pregnancy had been the result of her teenage recklessness. Back in high school, Heather spent all her energy chasing boys, particularly Trey Walters, a local delinquent with bleached hair. When Martha found out, she warned Heather to stay away from him. Instead, Heather ran off, dropping out of school and moving into Trey’s house. Trey quickly lost interest after their fling. He threw her out, dumping her belongings onto the street. With nowhere else to go, Heather returned home, visibly pregnant. Martha believed Heather’s resentment toward Calvin stemmed from him being Trey’s child—the result of that humiliation. What she didn’t know was that Heather, on a cold, foggy night, had swapped the babies. She abused my son without guilt because he wasn’t hers. “Let’s just eat,” I said, calling Calvin over to join us. Heather coughed and said smugly, “I didn’t know you had so much free time, Clara—worrying about someone else’s kid.” “Calvin’s not hungry. He’s like a little bird—barely eats and never starves,” she quipped. But Calvin’s growling stomach betrayed her. His gaunt frame screamed malnourishment. I was about to insist when Heather hurled a slipper at the door. “Get out! Have you finished the laundry yet? Why are you standing around?!” “Sorry, Mom. I’ll get to it now,” Calvin whispered, carefully picking up the slipper and placing it by her feet before quietly leaving the kitchen. “You can use the washing machine for all those thick winter clothes,” I remarked. “Machines don’t clean as well as hands,” Heather replied. “Calvin’s too dumb to study. If he’s not diligent, he’s truly worthless.” She turned to Ezra, piling food onto his plate. “Ezra, my smart boy, you’ll go to Harvard or Yale one day. Leave the servant work to others.” Heather’s favoritism was blatant. She might as well have tattooed “Ezra is my real son” across her forehead. But I stayed silent, choosing to watch from the sidelines. Later, Heather pulled Calvin out of school, claiming she’d arranged a job for him in Detroit for $800 a month. Martha protested. “He’s just a boy! He can’t handle that kind of labor!” Even Richard couldn’t hold back. “That steel factory is brutal! You’re sending Calvin to ruin himself!” “He’s not cut out for school, so why not earn money while he’s young?” Heather argued. “It’s his choice.” “Right, Calvin?” she added, glaring at him. Calvin nodded obediently. Richard placed a hand on Calvin’s shoulder, asking gently, “Why do you want to go?” “Mom said we owe you and Aunt Clara for taking us in. I should help Ezra with his education…” Hearing this, Richard and Martha were heartbroken. Richard snapped at Heather, “We’re not so poor we need a child’s help!” Heather burst into tears, throwing a fit. “I’m doing this for the family—for Ezra’s future!” When Richard wouldn’t relent, Heather pinched Calvin hard, prompting him to grab a pair of scissors from the table and press them against his neck. “If Uncle Richard won’t let me go, I’ll end it right here!” 3 I stood by, cold and detached, as Calvin pressed the sharp edge of the scissors to his neck. Blood seeped through a tiny cut, but I still didn’t move to stop him. Richard and Martha were frozen in fear, their voices trembling as they tried to calm him down. They promised to let him go to work, begging him to put the scissors down. Only then did Calvin lower the blade. His tearful gaze darted toward Heather. Heather’s tears vanished instantly. She beamed at Calvin and said, “Good boy. Work hard, make lots of money for Ezra!” “You’re useless for anything else. But if you can support your brother, at least your life will have some value.” Calvin nodded numbly, a sign he had completely surrendered. Years passed. Under my care, Ezra flourished—earning a PhD from the Ivy League. He was brilliant, well-mannered, and had found himself a bright, accomplished girlfriend. Meanwhile, Calvin toiled away in Detroit. Word reached us that his health was failing. The factory docked his pay frequently because he wasn’t as strong as before. After saving every penny, he could only manage to send home $200 or $300 a month. Whenever his money arrived, Heather would berate him over the phone: “Useless piece of trash! Raising you was a waste of time!” “This little bit of money? It wouldn’t even cover Ezra’s pocket change!” Every time I overheard Heather’s tirades, I tuned her out. Ezra was preparing to bring his girlfriend home, and I wanted everything to be perfect. Heather was ecstatic at the news. She rushed out to curl her hair and buy a few new outfits. She smeared makeup onto her lined face, muttering complaints about her dull skin. Then, she came to me for cosmetics. “Why the sudden makeover?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Really, Clara? You’re managing my makeup routine now?” she snapped. I handed her the cosmetics, casually adding, “You know, Calvin and Ezra are the same age. Isn’t it time Calvin found someone too?” Heather’s cheerful mood soured instantly. Her face darkened as she replied, “Calvin ‘dated’ someone at the factory last year, but she was probably just a tramp. What decent girl would be interested in Calvin?” “But for someone like him, even that’s not bad,” she added, brushing foundation on her face before changing the subject. “Speaking of which, I heard Ezra’s girlfriend is a PhD too—pretty and wealthy. She’s barely good enough for our Ezra!” Heather gushed about Ezra’s girlfriend, beaming as though it were her own engagement. By evening, Ezra and his girlfriend arrived. She was just as Ezra had described—polite, poised, and eloquent. Her words flowed gracefully, each one perfectly chosen. I served her food and asked, “How’s the meal?” She smiled warmly. “Mrs. Dawson, everything’s delicious. You’re an amazing cook.” “This whole spread was made by me!” Heather interjected, unable to contain herself. She began listing the ingredients she’d chosen and her meticulous preparation process. Richard sighed, “Let the girl eat, Heather.” Reluctantly, Heather quieted down, though her constant interruptions had already made the dinner awkward. Ezra, oblivious to the tension, suddenly noticed an empty chair and asked, “Isn’t Calvin coming home this year?” 4 The mention of Calvin cast a heavy silence over the table. “He’s staying in Detroit for the holidays,” Heather replied curtly. Ezra frowned. “I’m getting married this year. I was hoping Calvin could be my best man.” “Exactly,” Martha chimed in. “That boy hasn’t been back in years. I miss him. At least let him visit for the wedding.” Heather, clearly uncomfortable discussing Calvin in front of Ezra’s fiancée, forced a smile and made the call. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. “Hey, your grandma and cousin want you home for the wedding.” Heather’s tone was clipped, but with everyone watching, she softened it slightly. “We all miss you. You should come back.” The silence on the other end was long. Finally, a woman’s voice responded. “Hi, is this Aunt Heather? Calvin’s in the hospital. He’s been under observation.” “In the hospital? For what?” Heather demanded, standing abruptly. “What’s so serious that he needs a hospital stay? Must be a waste of money.” The woman’s tone grew sharp. “What do you mean? He’s gravely ill and running a constant fever. You don’t care, fine, but how can you complain about the cost? Money doesn’t outweigh someone’s life!” But to Heather, Calvin’s life truly was less valuable than money. Martha and Richard, hearing Calvin was sick, rushed to the phone. Heather ended the call abruptly, brushing them off. “He’s fine. Just being dramatic,” she said, smoothing her hair. “He’s probably faking it to get out of work.” Ezra, worried, asked if they should visit Calvin in Detroit. Heather shot him down. “There’s nothing to see. Right now, the priority is planning your wedding.” I watched Heather’s indifference to Calvin’s illness and couldn’t help recalling how, years ago, she had demanded hospital observation for Ezra over a minor cold. She had questioned the doctor’s competence, accused him of negligence, and fussed until Ezra fully recovered. She had even made him chicken soup every day, so much that Ezra grew nauseated at the sight of chicken. When Ezra caught chickenpox, Heather became his shadow, never leaving his side. She checked his fever constantly, ensured he didn’t scratch the sores, and even scolded me for walking too loudly, claiming it disrupted Ezra’s rest. Richard and Martha had often wondered aloud why Heather adored Ezra so fiercely. Even for an aunt, her devotion was extreme. Three months later, it was Ezra’s wedding day. Heather clutched Ezra’s hand, her tears streaming. “I’ve waited so long to see you start your own family.” “Watching you marry the woman you love—this makes my whole life worthwhile.” I watched as Heather’s emotions overwhelmed her. Her tears intensified, and I realized she was about to confess the truth. Standing on the stage, she grabbed the microphone, tears streaming down her face. “Ezra, my wonderful boy…” “I’m actually your mother!” 5 Ezra didn’t seem to take Heather’s words seriously. He smiled and said, “Aunt Heather, you’ve always cared for me like a mother.” “No,” Heather blurted, “I am your mother! You’re not Clara’s son—you’re mine!” She pulled out a document—paternity results. The report stated, with 99.99% certainty, that she and Ezra were biologically related. The room erupted into gasps. All eyes turned toward me. “Clara Dawson, you’re not Ezra’s real mother! I’m taking my son back today!” Heather declared, her voice trembling with emotion. I didn’t flinch. My face betrayed no shock or distress. It was as if she had casually asked me what I had for breakfast. I smiled faintly and nodded. “Fine. Take him back.” “What nonsense!” Richard snapped, his eyes reddening. “Ezra is our son! Clara, what’s going on here?” Even the guests, friends, and family stared at me, bewildered. After all, I had devoted years to raising Ezra, pouring my heart into him. “Clara, explain yourself!” Richard demanded, his voice shaking. I simply repeated Heather’s statement. “Ezra isn’t our child. I saw her swap the babies that night.” The guests broke into murmurs. Some glared at me in horror, while others openly accused me. “She knew her son was switched and still let this happen? How could she ignore her real child, working himself to death in Detroit?” “She let Heather abuse Calvin for years, knowing he wasn’t hers!” another guest hissed. I laid the truth bare, my tone calm, as though recounting an unremarkable story. Richard staggered backward, his expression twisting into disbelief. He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.
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