At my mother-in-law's New Year's Eve dinner, she slapped my six-year-old daughter so hard her lip split. My husband stared at his plate. I lifted my little girl from the chair, but my eight-year-old son quietly set down his fork: 'You are never touching my sister again.'

The pizza parlor noise faded into a distant, muffled roar. I couldn't look away from Tyler.

I remembered the day we brought him home. The private adoption agency Linda had highly recommended because I had struggled with infertility. The closed adoption. The way Linda had paid the exorbitant agency fees as a "gift" to us.

She always wanted a do-over child. When Tyler was born, Linda decided he was going to be hers. Beverly's words echoed in my skull.

Linda hadn't just bought an adoption. She had laundered her own grandchild. She had taken Daniel and Jennifer’s illegitimate baby, hidden the scandal, and orchestrated giving the child to me to raise until she decided she wanted him back.

I shoved the photos back into the envelope. My hands were shaking so violently I knocked over my water glass.

I had raised him. I had rocked him to sleep when he had a fever. I had taught him how to tie his shoes, how to read, how to stand up for his sister.

Tyler turned around from the arcade game and saw me wiping up the spilled water. He immediately ran over, grabbing napkins.

"I got it, Mom, don't worry," he said, helping me clean the mess. He looked up, his big brown eyes full of genuine care. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine, sweetie," I choked out, forcing a smile. "I'm just so proud of you."

"We're a team, right?" Tyler said, bumping his shoulder against mine.

"Always," I promised.

Biology didn't matter. The sick, twisted games Linda and Daniel played didn't matter. I was Tyler's mother. I had earned that title every single day for eight years.

But I knew one thing for certain. Daniel and Jennifer were out there, and if they knew this secret was exposed, they would come for him.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Patricia Hale's personal number. She answered on the second ring.

"Patricia," I said, my voice cold as steel. "We aren't done. I need you to file a restraining order against Jennifer immediately. And I need the name of a private investigator."