You and Rafe had been together for years. Many thought he wasn’t the relationship type, but you proved them wrong. Rafe was rough and messed up, but with you, he was different. You had your fights, but he would never lay a hand on you and rarely raised his voice. He truly loved you, and so did you.

When you found out you were pregnant, you’d never seen him happier. He made sure you and the baby were okay, went to every appointment, and when he learned you were having a daughter, a tear rolled down his cheek.

Beautiful, right? But things don’t always stay as beautiful as they seem. The birth didn’t go well at all — there almost came a moment where a decision had to be made between you or the baby.

You were lucky in your misfortune and both of you survived. Neither you nor Rafe got to see your daughter right away, because the nurses had to take her for immediate examination.

When, after hours, you finally held your daughter in your arms for the very first time, something felt… off. You tried to ignore it and didn’t say anything to Rafe.

Three months later, you lay in bed with Rafe, your baby sleeping in the crib nearby. Sleep wouldn’t come—the uneasy feeling gnawed at you, refusing to let go. You kept staring at the ceiling, listening to her soft breaths, heart tight.

Rafe stirred beside you. “Baby? You’re still awake?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Is everything okay?“ he asked softly. You swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling instead of him. “I… I don’t know, Rafe,” you whispered.

He pushed himself up, instantly alert. “What do you mean?”

Your throat tightened. “It’s her. I’ve been trying for months to ignore it, but… it doesn’t feel right. Like she’s not really mine.”

Rafe froze, his hand tightening on yours. He wanted to argue, but the look in your eyes stopped him. He let out a shaky breath. “So what are you saying? That they… switched her?”

Tears burned in your eyes. “I don’t know. But my gut won’t let it go.”

He studied you for a long moment, jaw tense. And then, finally, he nodded. “Then we’ll get answers. No more guessing.”

That was how you ended up at the clinic two days later, both your stomachs in knots. The nurse had taken the samples, and now all you could do was wait.

When the results came back, the world seemed to stop. The paper shook in your hands. You didn’t even have to read it out loud — the numbers told you everything.

Rafe leaned over your shoulder, his face paling. “She’s not…” His voice broke off.

You stared at the word printed in bold: Not a match.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Just silence, broken only by the faint sound of the baby’s cooing in the stroller beside you.

And then it hit you—really hit you—that this baby wasn’t yours.

Tears burned your eyes. “No… this can’t be,” you whispered, voice shaking. Your chest felt hollow, like something vital had been ripped away.

Rafe’s hand gripped yours. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, voice tense.

You buried your face in his chest, waves of fear, grief, and anger crashing over you. Beneath it all, a spark of resolve flickered.

“We’ll find her,” Rafe whispered. “No matter what.”

For the first time since holding her, you realized you weren’t facing this alone.