Chapter 1

The day my husband was on his deathbed, he broke down and confessed everything to me.

He said that twenty-six years ago, he'd swapped my baby with his true love's.

The son I'd raised was actually his and his true love's biological child.

He wanted to leave all his assets to that "real son" and make me take back Henry Quinn, the son his true love had raised into a complete mess.

His true love was smugly waiting for her "real son" to take care of her in her old age, while Henry was throwing a tantrum, demanding a house and cash.

I couldn't help but laugh.

They had no idea that I was wide awake the night the babies were switched.

I'd switched them back myself.

*****

The day the doctors said Michael Lane was in critical condition, he called me into his hospital room. His first words were so shocking that the caregiver hurried out.

He said, "Susan Ward, I'm sorry."

I sat down by his bed and tucked the blanket around him. "The doctor said you shouldn't get worked up."

He shook his head, his cloudy eyes locked onto mine. "I have to say it. If I don't, it'll be too late."

I lowered my gaze.

Back when he was young, he loved pretending to be deeply in love; in middle age, he acted like the calm, reliable type. Now that he's old and sick, he's still trying to put on a big show of repentance for himself.

Too bad the only audience was me.

And I was supposed to applaud his performance.

After struggling to breathe for a while, Michael finally managed to speak, "Andrew isn't your biological son."

The cup dropped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

Porcelain shards scattered everywhere. The caregiver peeked in, but I motioned for her to stay out.

I stared at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

Tears slid down the sides of Michael's face. "Back then, you and Emily Quinn gave birth on the same day. While you were still out from the anesthesia, I switched your babies.

"Andrew is actually the son Emily and I had together. Henry, the one Emily raised all these years, is really your son."

He shut his eyes, like he was bracing himself for me to fall apart.

I gave him the performance he wanted.

I clutched my chest, stumbling back a couple of steps, my voice trembling so convincingly that even I was impressed. "Michael, how could you do this to me?"

He cried even harder. "I had no choice. Emmy was suffering so much on her own. She was carrying my child back then. I couldn't let my son suffer with her."

I almost laughed out loud at that.

He sent his own son to enjoy the good life in my house, and just dumped my so-called "son" on Emily to suffer.

Twenty-six years later, he still has the nerve to call that 'no choice.'

When someone's shameless enough, even a hospital gown looks like royal robes on him.

I braced myself against the wall and slowly lowered myself into the chair. "Does Emily know?"

Michael quickly replied, "She doesn't know the details. All she knows is the babies got mixed up back then. Susan, if you want to hate someone, hate me, just don't blame her."

I nodded, my tears looking real enough. Because I gave myself a hard pinch.

I asked, "So what do you want to do now?"

Michael looked at me, a hint of careful calculation in his eyes. "I want to see Andrew, and I want to see Emmy."

I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my eyes. "Sure, I'll call her for you."

Michael was stunned. He hadn't expected me to agree so quickly.

I picked up my phone and dialed Emily's number.

As soon as the call connected, I started crying. "Emily, Michael's not doing well. He just told me about the babies. You should come over."

There was a three-second silence on the other end. Then I heard Emily's rapid breathing.

She asked, "Did he say who gets everything?"

I glanced at Michael, whose face had gone pale, and said softly, "Come over and see for yourself."