My daughter has leukemia and desperately needs a bone marrow donor. After a blood test, it turns out my blood type doesn't match hers. However, my husband's blood type does.

This confuses me. I gave birth to her, so how could my blood type not be a match for hers?

I'm puzzled by this when my long-lost best friend suddenly appears with her son, who's about my daughter's age. She wants him to do a blood test to see whether it matches my daughter's.

"Serena, listen to me. Let Margaret give it a try. There's a high chance that unrelated strangers may be a bone marrow match," my husband, Ian Glock, urged me anxiously.

Our ten-year-old daughter, Maisie Glock, was sick. She had leukemia, and she urgently needed a bone marrow transplant. However, things weren't going our way.

The HLA test showed that I wasn't a match. Not only was I unable to donate my bone marrow, but the doctor also delivered shocking news—the daughter I had cherished and loved for ten years wasn't biologically mine.

I found this hard to swallow. This was the child I had carried for ten months, the one I had nearly died giving birth to. Back then, she had looked nothing like me and took after Ian instead. Still, I never doubted it.

There was an old wives' tale that daughters who resembled their fathers would have a prosperous life ahead. However, as Maisie grew up, I started to notice that her temperament was entirely different from mine—and even from Ian's.

Through her, I saw a shadow of someone from my past—my former best friend, Margaret Lonsdale.

Margaret had disappeared from Galehaven for ten years. When she suddenly returned and rushed straight to the hospital to check if her bone marrow was a match for my daughter, I knew there was more to the story.

Well, Margaret wasn't just anyone. Back in college, she had cozied up to me upon learning my family was wealthy. I ended up giving her my spare cosmetics and clothes for four years.

She had never spent a penny on me. Now, out of nowhere, she wanted to help my daughter. I found her generosity which had come out of nowhere hard to believe.

At the same time, my gaze landed on the little boy standing beside her. He was said to be Margaret's son. Though it was already early autumn, the boy was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and pants that didn't fit. On his feet were a pair of sneakers so worn they'd faded in color.

Upon noticing that I was observing him, the boy tugged at the hem of his shirt shyly, trying to cover himself up. Unfortunately, his clothes were too small. So, his attempt was futile.

I looked away from the boy, but a seed of doubt had already been planted in my mind.

This boy wasn't as tall as Maisie and looked malnourished. However, his features bore an uncanny resemblance to mine as a child. The way he instinctively tugged at his clothes when he felt nervous looked especially familiar. It was a habit I remembered having in my younger days.

Still, I couldn't act rashly. If this boy was my biological child, then who was Maisie? And how had my child ended up with Margaret?

Questions swirled in my mind, scattering everywhere without forming a clear picture. I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

My silence spurred Ian to speak up anxiously again. "Stop being stubborn, Serena. Just sign the papers and let Margaret undergo the test."

Years ago, Ian had signed a series of agreements with my father before our marriage, including stipulations about children. That meant if I didn't sign the papers today, no one would dare proceed with conducting any form of testing that involved Maisie.

"Maisie? Margaret?" I repeated their names in my mind.

Sometimes, the truth could be right before our eyes. The most dangerous place was often the safest. People were usually unwilling to believe that reality could be stranger than fiction.

As I pondered their names in my mind, I felt as if I had found the thread that tied all the scattered pieces together.

Ian, the ladder climber who had made his way up by marrying me, didn't have the decency to at least be faithful in our marriage. He had cheated on me, swapped my child with another, and thought I wouldn't notice.

If I didn't get even with the two scoundrels, I'd never forgive myself for all the suffering my child endured out there.

"Ian, why don't you take Margaret and Maisie to get the test done? I'll stay here and take care of Margaret's boy," I said, observing their reactions.

When I mentioned keeping watch over the boy, they exchanged a quick glance. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before they looked away.

"Alright, thank you, Serena. His name is Cain Lonsdale," Margaret said with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, making no effort to hide her glee.

To her, I had always been the rich girl who was nice and overly generous—a gullible heiress, in other words. But as the one who is next in line to inherit the Johanssen family's business, how could I be some bimbo for others to manipulate?

She had mistaken my tolerance of her petty schemes as proof of my stupidity and failed to realize I had merely considered her to be kind of acceptable as a friend. I never expected her shamelessness would escalate to the point of swapping my child and giving him such a name.

My entire body shook with anger. I wanted nothing more than to beat this vile pair of scoundrels before tossing them into the open sea to feed the sharks. However, I couldn't act just yet.

These two had deceived me for ten years. They had let my biological child suffer while I unknowingly raised their child as my own. If I let them off easily, that would be too merciful.

After Ian and Margaret left, only Cain and I remained in the room.

"How old are you?" I asked. Back then, I had only heard rumors that Margaret was pregnant, yet I never saw her again after she got pregnant. I needed to piece together how my child had been switched.

"I'm ten years old, Mrs. Glock," the boy replied softly.

His voice tugged at my heartstrings. Maisie had never spoken to me so gently before. She resented me for not having a nine-to-five job like her father, unaware that it was me who paid Ian's salary.

Every time I bought something, she would criticize me and say, "Mom, you don't earn money, but you spend it without a care. You're such a spendthrift."

At first, I chalked it up to my mother-in-law's negative influence on her. But as it happened more often, I began to wonder if this was her true nature. I couldn't understand how my excellent genes could produce such a child.

Now, I knew the truth—there was nothing wrong with my genes. The child I gave birth to was thoughtful and kind, and he was nothing like the one I'd been raising.

"Let's go buy you some new clothes. The weather's getting chilly," I said, noticing the goosebumps on his skinny arms. They were covered in bruises and scars, both old and new.

When Cain heard my words, his eyes lit up for a moment before quickly dimming. "No, Mrs. Glock. Mom says I'm worthless and don't deserve nice clothes. What I have is fine."

I was utterly heartbroken and I couldn't listen to this anymore. I couldn't imagine the hardships my son had endured over the past ten years. My nose stung, and a tear slid down my cheek.

Quickly, I turned my head and wiped it away so that Cain wouldn't see. Then, I grabbed his hand and headed straight for the mall.

At the mall, I replaced Cain's threadbare clothes that were barely fit to be rags with warm, high-quality outfits. At first, he resisted. After a while, he began to accept the new clothes I got him. While helping him try on a hoodie, I secretly plucked a strand of his hair and tucked it away.

Though I was almost certain of the truth, I had spent the past ten years with Ian. The entanglement of our finances and interests meant I couldn't act recklessly.

While I was shopping with Cain, Ian called me. "Serena, where are you? You need to thank Margaret properly this time. Her bone marrow was a match with our daughter's!"

Ian's excitement could practically spill through the phone as he further urged, "Come back quickly and make sure to have our private chef prepare some good food for Margaret. She's our savior, after all."

He then went on and on about how to pamper Margaret, the supposed savior of our daughter.

Standing next to me, Cain tugged gently at my sleeve and whispered, "Mrs. Glock, I hope my mom can save your daughter. But if you're only being nice to me because of this, you don't have to. My mom doesn't like me, and I don't have a dad. You feel like family to me, and I like you."

Cain's words thawed my heart like a warm spring melting a glacier. It struck a chord deep within me. Ever since I found out the truth, hatred was the primary driving factor behind every step I took—it clouded my mind from everything else.

Unexpectedly, the thing that I was so desperate to keep was nearly pushed away by me. My next move would be to punish that despicable couple and protect my child.

"Oh, Sweetie. I'm not being kind to you because of your mother. I'm telling you this because there's a chance I might actually be your mom," I said to Cain.

I decided not to beat around the bush. Cain needed to know eventually. And the sooner he knew, the better it was for me.

After I said that, the atmosphere between us grew strangely silent. I thought my words might have been too overwhelming for a ten-year-old boy. But when Cain finally spoke, his first words shocked me.

He remarked, "No wonder. I always wondered how a mother could despise her child and not love him."

His thin frame, which was now wrapped in high-end children's clothes, carried a forlorn air with a faint trace of self-deprecating bitterness. At that moment, I felt like the DNA test was unnecessary—I was sure this was my child.

Still, I couldn't skip any steps. I had to follow through to ensure that the vile couple who caused this separation would pay dearly for their actions. I would see to it that the fake daughter who took my real son's place would return to where she belonged and live the life she deserved.

I pulled out my phone and called my brother, Simeon Johanssen, who had a team of private investigators under him. When I told him I wanted to investigate Ian, he wasn't the least bit surprised.

"I've always said Ian was trouble, but you never listened," Simeon said in an I-told-you-so tone.

His words reminded me of the time I decided to marry Ian despite the opposition from all of my family members. They were all convinced Ian only wanted our family's wealth and status.

They weren't wrong. My family stood at the top of Galehaven's business world. We were wealthy and influential, and I had been chosen as the next head of the Johanssen family.

But back then, I was a naive young girl who blindly believed in romantic ideals—that love could conquer all, even poverty. I thought it didn't matter even if the man I loved was a beggar as long as we were together.

After the marriage, reality set in. The gap between our social classes and spending habits created countless conflicts. It quickly drained the little love we had.

Being the strong-willed person I was, I convinced myself that as long as there weren't fundamental issues, there was no need to expose my marital unhappiness. After all, how many marriages were truly built on love in our circle?

But I hadn't realized that Ian's betrayal had begun long ago. Perhaps every step he took—every action—was part of his plan. My child and I were nothing more than pawns in his scheme to climb the social ladder.

If that was the case, there was no longer any need to keep up appearances. Dignity and respect were things that one earned for oneself. Since Ian had no interest in preserving those, I saw no reason to hand them to him on a silver platter.

"I regret it now, Simeon. Please, stop teasing me. I need to know everything about what's been going on between Ian and Margaret all these years," I stated evenly.

Upon hearing the seriousness in my voice, Simeon dropped his playful tone and promised to conduct a thorough and meticulous investigation.

After hanging up, I turned to look at the boy by my side. The name Cain grated on my ears—I couldn't stand it for another second.

I said to him, "How about we call you Atlas Johanssen from now on? You'll take my surname. Even if the test shows you're not my biological child, I'll still consider you part of the Johanssen family. What do you think?"

Cain was still too young to know what it meant to be a Johanssen. Let me put it this way—when I gave birth to Maisie, Ian was desperate to have her take the Johanssen surname. But because my family had not yet accepted him as a son-in-law, his plan failed.

As I looked back now, I felt relieved. If Maisie had taken the Johanssen name, it would have caused so much trouble today.

After a moment of silence, Cain still hadn't responded to my suggestion. Doubts began swirling in my mind. Of course—how absurd was it to offer a child a new name without even confirming if I was his biological mother? What I was doing was kind of unhinged.

Just as I was about to tell Cain that I was only joking, he spoke. "Mom, I want to be Atlas Johanssen. I don't want to be Cain Lonsdale—the child Margaret doesn't want."

"Good!" I thought. That was the decisiveness I'd expect from someone with the Johanssen family blood running in their veins.

With that resolved, I no longer had anything holding me back. It was time to start punishing that despicable couple for what they'd done.