At my daughter’s seventh birthday party, I was just about to call for her father to come cut the cake. Instead, Vito Romano shoved me away in front of everyone. “Don’t call me that. I’m not her father!” He slammed a DNA paternity report down on the table. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. My adoptive parents slapped me across the face right there. Alessia—the “real daughter” they’d just welcomed home—shrank into my husband’s arms, eyes red, playing innocent: “I’m so sorry, Sofia. I only mentioned in passing that Bella doesn’t look like your husband. I never thought he’d actually go and get it tested…” From that day on, I was branded a whore. And Bella became the bastard child everyone spat on. Then my husband filed for divorce. For my daughter’s sake, I swallowed my pride and went to beg him—just one more DNA test. But instead, I overheard him talking to a friend: “You faked a DNA report to humiliate your wife for Alessia’s sake, stamped Bella as a bastard—aren’t you worried your wife and kid will actually leave?” His voice was breezy, indifferent: “Why would I worry? My in-laws know the DNA test was forged.” “She’s the fake daughter who stole all those years of Alessia’s life. Once Alessia feels like things are even, I’ll just remarry Sofia. Simple.” “Sofia can’t survive without me. Even after the divorce, she’ll wait.” I thought of Bella crying, asking me if Daddy really didn’t want her anymore. I clenched my fists so hard my nails broke the skin of my palms. The next day, I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I went to city hall with him and signed the divorce papers calmly. What he didn’t know was that the moment I walked out of that building, I turned around and picked up another marriage certificate. Standing outside his door, listening to Vito’s careless words, I could barely keep my legs beneath me. His friend tried to say something more, but Vito cut him off with a low laugh. “Relax. When the time comes, I’ll just act like I didn’t know. I’ll say the hospital made a mistake. She’ll come crawling back on her own.” I braced myself against the wall, a spasm of pain twisting through my chest. Just hours earlier, Bella had come home from school in tears. Her uniform—the one she always kept so neat—was caked in mud, her knees scraped raw and bloody. I called her teacher. The voice on the other end was ice-cold, demanding we transfer schools: “Bella’s mother, do you really need me to spell it out? When a parent’s personal life is this disgraceful, when it’s all anyone talks about—every child in that school knows your daughter is some man’s illegitimate mistake. The other parents have serious concerns, and frankly, we’re in a very difficult position.” I hung up and held my trembling daughter, my heart splitting open. She looked up at me, her small face streaked with tears: “Mommy, if I really am Daddy’s daughter… would he love me again?” For that one sentence, I threw away every last shred of dignity and came to find Vito. To beg him for one more DNA test. I never imagined I’d overhear something so vile instead. In his eyes, publicly forging a DNA test to humiliate me was nothing—a trivial inconvenience. The shame and abuse Bella and I endured was just a performance he’d staged to please another woman. Even my adoptive parents—who’d always sworn they loved me most—were accomplices in his little play. In his eyes, publicly forging a DNA test to humiliate me was nothing—a trivial inconvenience. The shame and abuse Bella and I endured was just a performance he’d staged to please another woman. Even my adoptive parents—who’d always sworn they loved me most—were accomplices in his little play. I shut my eyes against the pain. Behind the door, their laughter continued. His friend seemed to feel a twinge of guilt: “But what about Bella? I saw her earlier—a bunch of kids were screaming ‘bastard’ at her and she ran out of school crying. You’re really okay with her suffering like that? If she ever finds out the truth, she might never forgive you.” Vito’s tone dripped with the arrogance of a man convinced he held all the cards: “Kids forget fast. A little suffering never hurt anyone. Besides, she’s my biological daughter—blood is thicker than water. You really think she’d disown her own father?” I dug my nails deeper into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Before, I would have kicked that door open and demanded answers. But this time, I simply turned around. This divorce was happening. No matter what.
I packed a few changes of clothes, took Bella by the hand, and went back to the Romano estate. Every other time I’d come home, my adoptive parents would come out smiling before I even reached the door. This time, my adoptive mother’s voice was thick with disgust: “What are you doing here?” “Mom… I have nowhere to go. I just need to stay one night with Bella.” She sneered. “The Romano estate isn’t a homeless shelter. Don’t bring your bad luck in here.” My chest tightened. Bella peeked out from behind me, timid and small: “Grandpa! Grandma!” Her voice was soft and sweet, just like always—waiting for them to scoop her up. Their faces remained stone-cold: “Don’t call us that. We don’t have trashy relatives like you.” It hit me like a blow to the head. I stood rooted to the spot. A few days apart, and we’d gone from adopted daughter to not even worth claiming as distant family? I still remembered when my adoptive father used to lift me over his head and declare that Sofia was the jewel of the Romano family. My adoptive mother used to brag to everyone about how accomplished her adopted daughter was. But ever since Alessia came back, their love for me vanished overnight. The family businesses I managed were stripped away, one by one. The connections I’d painstakingly built were transferred to Alessia’s name, piece by piece. At the time, I’d told myself it made sense—Alessia was their real daughter. Compensating her was only natural. Now I finally understood. They resented me. They resented me for being the cuckoo in their nest, for living the life that should have been Alessia’s. Vito’s cruel words still echoed in my ears. To make Alessia feel better, they’d sanctioned that entire charade—that public humiliation—and ground me and Bella beneath their heels without a shred of mercy. I swallowed the emotions churning inside me and tested the waters: “What if… that DNA test was wrong? What if the results were falsified?” My adoptive mother paused. “The evidence is right there. You still want to argue?” I swallowed the emotions churning inside me and tested the waters: “What if… that DNA test was wrong? What if the results were falsified?” My adoptive mother paused. “The evidence is right there. You still want to argue?” My adoptive father fixed me with a cold stare: “Everyone saw it. You’ve already dragged the Romano name through the mud. If a DNA test isn’t proof enough, what do you want? Do we need to catch you in bed with someone before you’ll admit it?” A bone-deep chill spread through me. They knew. They knew all of it was fake. And still, they stood there cursing me with that same venom, nailing me to the pillar of shame. My adoptive father frowned, his tone dripping with condescension: “Fine. If you really want to stay here, then tomorrow you’ll issue a public statement. Admit that you were unfaithful during your marriage. Admit that Bella is not Vito’s child. Then you’ll step down from all core family positions and transfer your shares to Alessia. Unconditionally.” I could barely believe my ears. My voice shook: “You want me to admit what? Bella is not a bastard!” My adoptive mother didn’t even look up: “A counterfeit raising offspring—what else would you call it but counterfeit?” Something in my mind went white with static. Something inside me shattered completely. Just then, footsteps sounded from upstairs. Alessia descended, eyes rimmed with red, looking for all the world like a startled deer: “Dad, Mom, please don’t do this…” She turned to me, voice gentle. “Sofia, I know you’re hurting. But Mom and Dad are getting older, and the family has a reputation to protect. You can’t drag everyone down because of your personal life. Just apologize, and once this all blows over, we’ll still be family.” She bent down to look at Bella, eyes full of manufactured sympathy: “As for whether the child is really Vito’s… Vito is such a good man, I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.” Before I could respond, my adoptive parents had already lost patience. They ordered the bodyguards to throw my things out: “We raised you for twenty years. We were willing to let you keep some dignity. Since you won’t admit your wrongs—don’t ever come back to the Romano family again.”
It was late when we left the Romano estate. Bella was curled up in my arms, eyes swollen, not making a sound. I stroked her hair, assuming she was simply exhausted from crying, and hurried to find somewhere to stay. By the time I stood in the hotel lobby, I looked like an absolute wreck. “A suite, please.” I handed over the supplementary credit card. The receptionist swiped it, then looked up. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This card has been frozen.” My stomach dropped. I dug out my own bank card. Only to discover that my personal savings had been transferred out too. My fingertips went cold. I felt nothing but revulsion. Vito was willing to go that far. He didn’t just want me to grovel—he wanted to cut off every escape route I had. The receptionist’s tone was flat: “Miss, would you still like a room?” My throat constricted. I called my closest friend: “Can you lend me some money? Or book a room for me? I just need somewhere for Bella and me to stay tonight.” My fingertips went cold. I felt nothing but revulsion. Vito was willing to go that far. He didn’t just want me to grovel—he wanted to cut off every escape route I had. The receptionist’s tone was flat: “Miss, would you still like a room?” My throat constricted. I called my closest friend: “Can you lend me some money? Or book a room for me? I just need somewhere for Bella and me to stay tonight.” Two seconds of silence. Then her voice dropped low: “Sofia, it’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just—my family is in the middle of negotiating a deal with the Romanos right now. This thing with you has gotten so big… if I get involved, it could hurt the company.” She didn’t finish, but I already understood. I hung up, staring at my own reflection in the marble floor, and suddenly found it all absurd. Twenty-some years alive, and I had nothing. The only person left who would stand by me without hesitation was the daughter in my arms. But the next second, her body swayed, and she went limp against me. I pressed my hand to her forehead, and my heart turned to ice. She was burning up. I scrolled through every contact in my phone, and finally stopped on the one name I least wanted to bother. After managing to borrow money, I carried Bella back to the front desk: “A room, please. My daughter has a fever.” The receptionist suddenly rolled her eyes: “No wonder your cards are frozen. You’re that Romano fake heiress who cheated on her husband.” I froze. She looked me up and down, her tone growing nastier by the second: “Rotten to the core, and you still had to pop out some no-name bastard to embarrass everyone. This is a respectable establishment. Please take yourself elsewhere—don’t dirty our floors.” Guests in the lobby turned to stare. I tried to explain, but there was nothing I could say. I could only carry Bella out of the hotel in humiliation. The streets were empty, the late-night wind cutting like a blade. Bella was delirious with fever, her face buried in the crook of my neck, murmuring: “Daddy… please don’t leave me…” That single sentence ripped my heart to shreds. I clenched my jaw and finally pulled out my phone, dialing Vito’s number. Ten calls. No answer. My fingers trembling, I typed out a message: Bella has a fever. Can you please come? After a long while, his reply: “The kid isn’t even mine. I don’t have time for your sob story.” I stared at those cold, dead words on the screen. The world around me buzzed with noise, but I couldn’t even cry. In the end, I took Bella to the hospital alone. The emergency corridor was crowded. I’d barely finished registering when I heard a familiar voice. Vito was guiding Alessia into the ER. A nurse handed a test form to Vito, her tone reproachful: “Bleeding in the first trimester—threatened miscarriage. These early months are critical. You’re her husband; be more careful. Stop putting stress on the mother!” Vito took the form, instinctively pulling Alessia closer. “Does it still hurt?” Alessia shook her head softly, eyes red-rimmed. “Bleeding in the first trimester—threatened miscarriage. These early months are critical. You’re her husband; be more careful. Stop putting stress on the mother!” Vito took the form, instinctively pulling Alessia closer. “Does it still hurt?” Alessia shook her head softly, eyes red-rimmed. Vito frowned. “Don’t go home tonight. Stay at my place—I’ll take care of you.” Alessia bit her lip, whispered an agreement, and leaned into his chest. I stood there. My blood turned to ice, inch by inch. Years ago, when I was pregnant with Bella, he’d held me just like that. I’d had terrible morning sickness—couldn’t keep even water down. He canceled every meeting on the spot and stayed by my side for all ten months. He’d said: “Sofia, you and our daughter—you’re my whole life.” And now, the one who’d stamped his “whole life” as a bastard was him. The one who’d pushed me and Bella into the abyss with his own hands—also him. I almost wanted to laugh. Turns out, the more real a person’s love seems when they love you—the more brutal they become when they don’t. Bella was still burning in my arms. My phone buzzed. I looked down. A message from Vito: “Sofia, I’m done waiting. Three days from now. City hall.”
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