When I came home early, I overheard my daughter, Samantha, whispering on the phone, her voice trembling. “I can’t tell Mom the truth. She’ll hate me forever.” My heart pounded. What truth could make her think that?

Later, she tried to brush it off, but I knew something was wrong. That evening, I gently pressed her, and finally, she confessed. “I did an ancestry test. It says you’re not my biological mother.”

Her words hit me like a wave. She explained how red hair runs in our family, yet she has none. After a school lesson on blood types, she started to question everything. So, she secretly tested both me and her father. The results confirmed her worst fear—he’s her biological dad, but I’m not her biological mom.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You’ve known, haven’t you? You and Dad never told me.”

I held her hand tighter, my heart breaking, but full of love.