After Lily turned six, I dragged her through ninety-nine DNA tests.

I even pulled her out of school.

Quit my job too. Every day, another hospital, another test.

The house? Total chaos.

And every single report said the same thing—biologically related.

By the hundredth test, Wesley snapped. He yanked Lily behind him.

"Lily came out of you. How could she not be yours? If you keep this up, we're done."

He pulled out the divorce papers.

Lily's face crumpled. She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. "Mom, you said I was your most precious baby. Don't you want me anymore?"

"You were under a lot of stress after giving birth. It turned into depression. Let's see a doctor," Wesley's mom said, wiping her eyes.

I didn't say a word. I ripped the papers to shreds, yanked Lily out from behind him.

"One more test. Once we get the report, you can divorce me if you still want to."

The report came back.

No one said a word.

I dragged Lily toward the hospital. She fought me, crying hard. "Dad, save me! I don't want her. I want Sasha to be my mom!"

I didn't stop.

Wesley Cole shoved me aside and ripped Lily from my grip. "You're insane. You don't deserve to be a mother."

A knock hit the door.

I opened it.

Reporters packed the hallway, cameras and phones aimed right at me.

I tried to slam the door, but a reporter jammed it open.

"Ms. Madison, did you have postpartum depression after giving birth?"

"Have you been reading too many switched-at-birth stories?"

"Why are you so obsessed with DNA tests that you're draining your savings?"

The questions kept coming.

I said nothing.

I glanced at Wesley. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.

But as they kept talking, his face hardened, turning more and more indignant.

So he called them. After all this time, he'd hit his limit.

Wesley and I were college classmates. We got married right after graduation.

Campus sweethearts to married life—people envied us.

Not long after, we had Lily. Raising her was exhausting.

But one look at her sweet little face, and the exhaustion vanished.

After she turned six, I started taking her for DNA tests.

At first, Wesley didn't believe it. He waited with me, tense, for the results.

They came back. The whole family relaxed.

I tossed the report in the trash and dragged Lily to another test.

Again and again.

Soon, everyone was calling me crazy.

"You'll understand when the next report comes out," I said.

That got them fired up.

"But the first ninety-nine results are already in. Why won't you stop?"

"Didn't they already prove it?"

"They confirmed she's your child!"

Lily spoke right on cue. "Mom, my arm really hurts. I don't want any more DNA tests!"

She rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm.

Everyone gasped.

Her soft arms were covered in bruises—blue and purple layered over each other.

It was brutal to look at.

Wesley's eyes went red. He pulled her close, checking her arm. "Did your mom do this to you?"

"It's okay, Dad. You said Mom's just sick," Lily said. "She doesn't know what she's doing. I need to understand her."

That gentle tone just made her look more pitiful.

I didn't hold back. While Wesley wasn't looking, I scooped her up and ran.

Downstairs. Into the car. Engine on before he even made it out.

I checked the rearview.

Wesley was chasing us. Reporters right behind him.

I hit the gas.

In the back seat, Lily's tears were gone. Her eyes turned cold.

"Mom, even if you do a hundred tests, it won't change anything. I'm your daughter."

A smug smile curled on her lips.

I said nothing. I cut across lanes.

The older she got, the more something felt off.

It started with a kindergarten physical. Her blood type came back A.

I'm O. Wesley's B. No way she could be A.

I called the school. They said it was a mistake.

Later, I took her to the hospital myself. This time, it came back B. Wesley kept saying I was just stressed, overthinking it.

That night, Lily walked into my room with a knife.

I'm a light sleeper. I jerked awake. "What are you doing?"

"Mom, can you just die?" Her voice was soft, almost sweet—but it cut cold.

I flipped on the light. She slipped the knife behind her back, face all innocence.

I pressed her all night. Nothing. Just tears.

By morning, she was back to her usual self—sweet, well-behaved.

I even wondered if Wesley or his mom—Caroline—put her up to it. No proof.

It felt like she was two people.

In front of everyone, she was obedient, adorable.

But at night, when it was just us, she flipped—cold, selfish.

When Lily realized we weren't heading to the usual hospital, she frowned. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the hospital," I said. "Just not the one we went to before."

She looked out at the unfamiliar streets—then panicked, slamming her fists against the window.

"Let me out! I don't want another DNA test! I am your daughter!"

My phone rang. Wesley.

I picked up.

"Maya Madison! Where are you taking Lily? If anything happens to her—"

"To the hospital."

"You're going the wrong way!" His voice spiked, panic breaking through.

I kept my voice calm, almost amused. "Bellemont Medical Center. We've been to St. Rosaline Hospital too many times."

He started tripping over his words. "Go to St. Rosaline! I'll let you do the test—I won't stop you!"

"Dad, save me! Mom said she's taking me to die with her! Save me! I don't want to be with her!" Lily suddenly screamed.

I caught her in the rearview mirror. Her face twisted, vicious.

I hung up and hit the gas.

At Bellemont Medical Center, I dragged her straight to the second-floor lab.

I'd already booked it.

Lily's face kept draining, paler with every step. When we hit the second floor, someone called out—

"Maya, what are you doing here?"

Sasha Reed. My best friend.

Wesley rushed up right then. The second he saw her, the panic on his face eased.

"Sasha can go with us too. I'm not stopping you. Just go to St. Rosaline. Don't you trust Sasha?"

Sasha lost her parents young. Her grandparents raised her.

They were always busy, barely scraping by.

My mom felt bad. She brought Sasha over all the time.

Whatever I had, she had too.

We grew up side by side.

After graduation, my mom helped her land a job at St. Rosaline.

We were basically sisters.

She'd handled every DNA test before this.

"Sasha!" Lily ran over, grabbing her hand, eyes on me, wary.

Sasha blinked. "Another DNA test? That makes a hundred, right?"

Then her face shifted, concern creeping in. "Are you under too much stress? Postpartum depression? You should see a psychiatrist."

She glanced at me, saw how tight I was, and sighed. "If you really want to do it here, fine. I'm here for an exchange program anyway. I'll watch them run it. That should ease your mind."

I looked down, thought for a second, then nodded.

Reporters flooded into the hospital. Some were already livestreaming.

She grabbed a collection tube and rolled up Lily's sleeve. The bruises made her eyes soften.

"Maya, let's use hair instead. Tech's better now. It'll still be accurate."

I watched the livestream on my phone. The comments were blowing up with insults.

"This is child abuse!"

"I know her! The crazy lady in our neighborhood who keeps doing DNA tests!"

"Call the cops! That kid isn't safe with her!"

I didn't react. "Draw blood."

Wesley slapped me across the face. "You're hopeless!"

My cheek swelled on the spot. I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth.

I covered my face, eyes cold.

He froze for a second, panic flashing in his eyes.

Then he glanced at the phone screen. The panic faded—replaced by something like satisfaction.

The livestream lit up with cheers.

"Well done!"

"She had it coming!"

I snatched the syringe from Sasha and drew Lily's blood myself.

Then I drew my own and handed both tubes to Sasha.

She looked at me, helpless—like I was too far gone.

I sat outside the lab, silent, waiting.

My mom rushed in and grabbed my hand. "If Wesley hadn't called, I wouldn't even know you've been doing this! What's wrong with you? If something's bothering you, tell us. Let's go home. No more tests."

Her eyes flicked to the cameras around us.

My vision blurred. I could ignore everyone else—just not her.

If this DNA test came back the same, with all those cameras—

I'd be done. Hated. I might drag her down with me.

But I didn't back off. I pulled my hand free. "Mom, you'll understand when the results come out."

"You! How can you be this stubborn?" She clutched her chest, her vision going dark—then collapsed.

"Mom! Mom!" I lunged to catch her, but my dad shoved me aside.

"You ungrateful girl! You put your mother in the hospital! We don't have a daughter like you!"

They rushed her into the ER.

At the doors, I turned and walked toward the lab.

Wesley glared at me. "Maya, I didn't know you could be this cold. Your mom's in the ER because of you, and you're still thinking about a DNA test? You're heartless."

My steps dragged. My chest felt packed tight. I could barely breathe.

I kept walking.