Patricia and I had been born on the same day, in the same hospital, just minutes apart. A flurry of nurses, two newborn girls crying, a power outage that knocked out the identification tags. In the chaos, one frightened nurse made a mistake she’d carry for decades—and never had the courage to fix. She swapped the babies. Me and Patricia. One simple, tragic mix-up.
Patricia went home with the Monteras—an elite, old-money family known for their legacy, their wealth, their name. I, Alicia, the real daughter of Montera Group’s heir, went home with a working-class couple in the city outskirts, a quiet, simple life full of secondhand shoes, hard work, and honest love.
I never knew the difference. Not until the nurse, wracked with guilt and dying of illness, finally confessed. She called the Monteras and told them everything. Tests were done. Blood types checked. Legal papers pulled.
It was true. I was the real Montera daughter.
And Patricia… was not. But by then, it was too late.
The Monteras had raised Patricia for over two decades. She was the “golden child.” The media darling. Groomed to take over the company. Trained in etiquette, strategy, public relations. She fit in their world so seamlessly that no one—not even her—wanted to admit the truth.
They welcomed me in, yes. But not as a daughter. As a charity case. A pitiful mistake they were now obligated to clean up.
They still treated Patricia as their daughter. Still celebrated her every move, while I was tucked away like a faded memory they couldn’t throw out but couldn’t look at, either.
I was the real daughter. But never their choice.
Even Denver had chosen her. At first, I convinced myself it was just admiration, proximity, the fact that they knew each other before me. But then I overheard him.
It was at the back of the garden during a gala, just a few days after I was discharged from the hospital. He was speaking to someone I couldn’t see, his voice hushed but clear.
“I should’ve married Patricia. God, I regret marrying Alicia. She’s weak. Ordinary. No spark. Patricia would’ve made sense—imagine the power couple we could’ve been.”
I froze behind the hedge, my hand clamped over my mouth.
And then he said it.