Ann held her newborn daughter for the first time, exhausted but glowing.
Megan walked in holding flowers. “She’s beautiful!”
Ann didn’t notice the darkness in Megan’s eyes.
Ann’s husband David was deployed overseas for eight more months. She was alone with a newborn.
“I’ll help you,” Megan offered. “Whatever you need.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Three days later, Megan walked into the nursery.
“Ann, did the hospital give you identification bands?”
“Yeah, why?”
“The baby at the hospital had a tiny birthmark behind her left knee. I noticed it when the nurse checked her.” Megan lifted the baby’s leg. “It’s not there anymore.”
Ann stared at the smooth skin. “Maybe it faded?”
“Maybe.” Megan’s tone was uncertain. “Or maybe you were too exhausted to notice… differences.”
The seed was planted.
A week later, Megan said, “Has her eye color changed? They were bright blue at the hospital. Now they’re almost gray.”
“Babies’ eyes change—”
“But you and David both have blue eyes. Two blue-eyed parents almost always have blue-eyed babies.”
Ann’s hands shook. “Megan, stop.”
That night Ann barely slept, searching for the birthmark she couldn’t remember.
The next morning, she called the hospital. “I need to verify my daughter’s identification records.”
“Mrs. Hayes, is everything okay?”
“There were other babies born that day. You need to check! DNA tests!”
Security escorted her out. Megan drove her home.
Ann’s behavior spiraled. She accused nurses, called lawyers, stopped sleeping.
“You need to see someone,” Megan said. “This could be postpartum depression.”
Ann agreed to see a psychologist.
Megan spoke privately with the doctor. “I’m worried about the baby’s safety. Yesterday Ann almost dropped her. On purpose. She said, ‘This isn’t even my child.'”
“Has this happened more than once?”
“Three times. If I hadn’t been there…” Megan wiped fake tears.
Two days later, police arrived.
“You’re being placed under psychiatric evaluation for the safety of your child.”
“MEGAN, TELL THEM IT’S NOT TRUE!”
Megan stood crying. “I’m sorry, Ann. But I can’t let you hurt that baby.”
Megan was granted emergency custody as the godmother.
She disappeared that night. New city. New name.
When David returned two months later, his wife was institutionalized and his daughter was gone.
A year later, Ann was released. They hired investigators.
Fourteen months after Megan disappeared, they got a tip. Oregon. Different name. With a toddler.
They knocked on the door. Megan’s face went white.
Behind her, a little girl with blonde curls played.
“That’s my daughter,” Ann said coldly.
“You can’t prove—”
“DNA will. Come with us now, or we call the police.”
Megan crumbled. “I just wanted a baby.”
“So you destroyed my life to take it.”
Ann picked up her daughter. The girl didn’t recognize her own mother.
Megan was arrested. Charged with kidnapping and fraud. Twenty years. No parole.
It took months for Ann’s daughter to bond with her again. Months of therapy and love.
But slowly, the little girl started calling Ann “Mama.”
The nightmare was over. Her daughter was home
