When I was five, my parents had a second child, a baby sister.
I went to the hospital to visit, and saw with my own eyes someone swap my sister with another infant.
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I secretly swapped them back myself.
Twenty years later, a young woman rushed to my parents, crying and sobbing:
“Mom and Dad, I’m your real daughter!”
After a business trip abroad, the atmosphere at home felt really off.
Mom and Dad both looked strange, and the house was eerily quiet.
I carried the gifts I’d bought for everyone and asked,
“Where’s Chloe? Isn’t it the weekend? Hasn’t she come home this week?”
Chloe Harrison is my sister, five years younger than me. She’s a sophomore in college, studying locally, and usually, she’d be home every weekend if she had nothing else going on.
On the way here, I could already picture her reaction the moment I walked through the door.
She’d undoubtedly dash over like a puppy, grab my suitcase, and then excitedly hug me, saying,
“Sis, I missed you so much!”
But I didn’t see my sister. Only my silent parents.
My dad waved me over. ”
Luna, come here. Your mom and I have something really important we need to discuss with you.”
As the oldest child, I’d already taken over parts of the family business since starting college.
The Harrisons were old money, a truly influential dynasty. Our family had a storied legacy, tracing back generations, and built an empire that was known far and wide.
In my parents’ generation, all our relatives were living comfortably, too.
The family businesses were just waiting for Chloe and me to inherit them. We definitely had the resources.
“What’s going on with you two? Why so mysterious?”
I walked over, a bit confused.
“Chloe wasn’t bullied at school, was she?”
My sister, after all, would never be the one to bully someone.
“No,”
Mom pulled me down to sit, her expression incredibly complex.
“It’s much more serious than that.”
What?
Something more serious than my sister being bullied?
“Did our family go bankrupt? Which company?”
Our family had its fingers in so many industries; I couldn’t immediately think of which one might be in crisis.
“Not that either,”
Dad said, his face etched with worry.
“Luna, have you ever thought that Chloe isn’t our child?”
What?
I looked at Mom.
“Mom, did you do something wrong when you were young?”
Then I got a slap.
“What are you thinking, kid?”
Dad’s voice grew louder.
“I mean, is it possible Chloe isn’t mine, or your mom’s?”
“No way,”
I stated firmly.
After hearing me say that, Mom also chimed in, looking equally troubled.
“Exactly. How could the child we’ve raised for twenty years not be ours?”
My parents’ behavior was truly bizarre. I crossed my arms, leaned back, and looked at both of them.
“What exactly happened? Who said Chloe isn’t our child?”
From my parents, I heard about the absurd things that had happened during my week-long business trip.
Just a few days ago, a 20-year-old girl frantically appeared before my mom and dad.
Tears and snot streaming down her face, she pitifully clung to my mom’s leg, wailing,
“Mom and Dad, I’m your real daughter! Your current younger daughter, Chloe Harrison, she’s fake! Her birth mother swapped us when we were born!”
“Some random person shows up, claims to be your biological daughter, and you just believed her?”
I felt a headache coming on.
“Seriously? Did you actually fall for this obvious scam? Didn’t you even bother to check?”
“But she accurately stated your sister’s birth date and time. She even knew the hospital and the doctor who was on duty,”
Mom said.
“That only means she’s a well-prepared con artist,”
I continued.
“That kind of information isn’t top-secret. It’s not unheard of for someone to remember it or happen to know.”
“Your dad and I didn’t believe it at first, but then she produced the necklace Grandma Lily gave your sister when she was born that year.”
Dad chimed in, agreeing.
“You were still little then, so I don’t know if you remember, but Grandma Lily specifically had matching necklaces custom-made for you and your sister. The one Chloe has now was a replacement we got later. The original one, Grandma Lily put it in her bassinet the day she was born, but it went missing at some point.”
Their words suddenly brought back some distant memories.
When our second child was born, I was five.
That day, I’d just returned from kindergarten, and only the nanny was home.
I cried for Mom and Dad, and the nanny told me they were at the hospital having a little brother or sister.
I must have gone to the hospital to see my sister the next evening.
By then, Chloe Harrison had been born for over ten hours.
I don’t really remember hospital security measures from twenty years ago, but I do remember there were always whispers, horror stories about babies being snatched right out of the nursery.
Dad had just taken a call to deal with an urgent company matter, and our relatives, who had been bustling around to see the baby, had left.
Mom was too tired and needed to rest, so the hospital room became quiet again.
A nanny should have stayed to watch the baby, but I don’t remember why she left the room at that time.
I stood on my tiptoes, peering into the bassinet at my sister. She was tiny, soft, and seemed like a fragile thing that would cry if you touched her.
But she was cute, like me.
I stared at her for so long that I started to get sleepy. The light in the room was dim; Mom and my sister both needed to rest.
Sleepiness crept over me. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time.
Perhaps I thought Mom’s coat hanging on the rack looked especially warm and comfortable, so I pulled it down, covered myself with it, and leaned against the headboard to sleep.
However, a sound from the door soon startled me awake.
I thought it was Dad coming back, but quickly realized it wasn’t.
A distinctly feminine figure walked into the room. It wasn’t our nanny, nor a relative, nor Mom and Dad’s friend.
What she was holding in her arms? A baby.
She put that baby down, then picked up my sister, and tiptoed out.
Perhaps it was the dim light, or maybe I was small enough then, and I stayed perfectly still in the corner.
Mom’s coat still covered me, so the person didn’t notice anyone else in the room besides Mom and my sister.
I just watched silently, half-asleep, thinking I was dreaming.
But then, as the faint sound of the door closing echoed, I suddenly sat up and tiptoed to look at the bassinet.
Even though newborn babies look pretty similar, and the baby was wearing the exact same clothes as my sister, I had stared at my sister for so long—how could I not recognize her?
They’d swapped them!
Realizing something was wrong, I immediately tried to wake Mom. Her breathing was even, but she wouldn’t stir.
I quickly opened the door, just catching a glimpse of the woman before she turned the corner, and immediately followed her.
The woman entered another hospital room.
I heard her mumbling to herself inside, though I didn’t catch what she said. But I memorized the room number.
Not long after, a man came to find her, and the two started arguing in the room.
He likely grabbed something and left, and the woman chased after him.
This was my chance.
I tiptoed open the door, slipped inside, and saw my sister in the bassinet.
I was certain that was my sister.
So, I carefully picked her up, and carried her back to Mom’s room.
Chloe whimpered softly halfway through, but thankfully, she was a good baby and didn’t cry.
After bringing my sister back, I carried the unfamiliar infant to that other room.
When the nanny returned and saw me fussing with my sister, she was really surprised. Dad heard about it later and scolded me, saying I was being reckless.
As for Mom, she woke up a few hours later, perfectly fine, and I was relieved.
This incident didn’t leave a deep impression on my memory; in fact, when I recalled it later, I thought it was just a dream.
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