"She could be dangerous. She could be trying to hurt you. You have to be careful!"
I couldn't hold back any longer.
I made sure Emma was somewhere safe, then went straight home.
She was in the living room with her six-month belly, doing prenatal yoga.
I cut straight to it.
"Tell me who you are."
"Who sent you to take my daughter's place? What is your real name?"
She froze mid-pose and looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
"Mom, have you completely lost it?"
"Or have you been watching too many soap operas? Where is this nonsense coming from?"
"Didn't I just explain the whole scam ring to you the other day? Have you seen them again? Did they get to you?"
Emma sighed—the kind of sigh that sounds like patience worn thin—and called Eustace.
"Dad, come home. Now."
"Actually, bring something for Mom's head while you're at it. She's decided I'm fake again."
Eustace came rushing back and fixed me with a cold stare.
"Deidre, what the hell is wrong with you now?"
"Emma finally gets maternity leave, comes here for a few quiet days, and you can't stop making her life miserable?"
Emma stood beside him, eyes red, nodding along.
"Mom, I've been your daughter for all these years. I've been right here beside you the whole time. Can you really not tell whether I'm real or not?"
"Some scammer feeds you a few lines and you believe them, but you won't believe me. Why?"
I spoke coldly.
"Then do you dare take a DNA test with me?"
The blind girl's results were already back. Black and white on the page—she was my biological daughter. I had the proof in my hands. That was why I was this furious, this certain.
But to my surprise, Emma just looked at me with a weary sigh.
"Fine. If that's what it takes for you to believe me, we can go today."
She said it without flinching, without even a flicker of hesitation.
That afternoon, we went and had the test done.
The results showed she was indeed my biological daughter.
"Well, Deidre? Got anything left to say? This was all you—paranoid, delusional. How was Emma ever not our daughter?"
I went numb, gripping the paper so hard my knuckles ached.
How was this possible?
I checked it over and over. There was nothing wrong with the results.
Afraid someone might have tampered with the sample midway, I insisted: "Do it again."
I waited until Emma was asleep in the middle of the night, took a strand of her hair, and had a second test done in secret.
The results came back identical.