She Wasn't My Daughter Novels & Stories

“You’re not.” The words hit me like a blade straight to the heart. My mouth opened…but no sound came out. Just the echo of that one word repeating over and over in my head. Not. I’m not their daughter.

I warned as I tried to take the glass from her hand, but she cut me. She cut me! I groaned. “C’mon!” I gritted out as I glanced at my bleeding arm. “I won’t let you take her! I won’t let you take her this time. I’ll die for my daughter.” Daughter? Charlotte did not have a daughter, She had a niece. At least that was what I knew, what her resume and what she told me, I wondered what she was on about with this story about her daughter and I wondered if it could be related to her episode at the hospital.

I said, doing my best to keep my words steady despite knowing they would hurt. “You’re sure?” he asked, swallowing hard and lowering his gaze. “That it was her? Yes. But also... no,” I admitted, exhaling deeply and sinking into my chair. “What do you mean?” he pressed, taking a seat across from me. “It was her. Your daughter,” I said, looking away. “But it wasn’t the Meridian we knew. She’s changed. She’s one of them now.” “She must’ve been ensnared by their dark magic,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My little girl...” he sighed deeply.

she asked while flashing a smile on her face. "I am here because I want to see you," I answered. "Oh. So sweet. I miss you." She hugged and I also did the same thing. "Uhm, the reason is not just I want to see you." "What is the other reason?" "I just want to ask you about your relationship with you daughter." She stop for a while and answer. "I don't have any daughter. If I have, that is only Samantha, but she is already dead."

The strength In me receding even more as I had just lost blood. ‘ so you are her daughter’ she exclaimed with a smirk ‘ Whose daughter?’ I asked, what was she saying…..was it my mother? Does my father know? So many questions kept going through my mind. ‘ oh you don’t remember, I wonder what Lisa would tell looking at you like this?’ she said snickering. Lisa wasn’t my mother’s name. who was she? Was she someone I knew? I tried recalling but I couldn’t. My face evident that I dint know what she was talking about.

“No, it’s not.” “You don’t know that!” I snapped, turning to face her. “You don’t kn ow what he’s capable of when he decides something is his!” “And she’s not a thing,” Brenda shot back just as quickly. That stopped me. My chest rose and fell heavily as I stared at her. “She’s not something he can just take,” she continued, her voice steady now. “She’s your daughter.” “Our daughter,” I corrected automatically. “You helped raise her with me, you know.”

I heard her whisper, I almost scoffed. God help this lady if she made me drive this far because of relationship problems. "I'm not his daughter" I heard her say again. I stood up straight and turned to her, I could tell this was serious. "Whose daughter," I asked and she turned to me with a sad smile. "He said he can't love me because I'm not his daughter" she repeated and got me more confused. "What's going on?" I asked. She sniffed and turned to face me.

she whispers. "why didn't you tell me that you have a daughter?" I say and she shrugs " I don't know, I just didn't want you to think I'm some desperate mother looking for job I guess" I blow out a breathe as I look at her " I would never think of you like that. You are an amazing and independent womans

Now wasn't the time to think of these things. “She's good—” “Then why isn't she here? Did you invite her?” my father's voice got deeper which meant he was getting serious. “Sorry for expecting some privacy from my parents first.” “She is family” But she wasn't, she was the daughter of his biggest business partner, we didn't have all the time in the world to get used to cucumbers, true. “You will get to see her tonight," I told them. "She's crazy.”

Too rehearsed. I narrowed my gaze. “Who are you?” She smiled, but there was tension behind it. “I’m your father’s daughter.” Silence fell like a bomb. “My what?” I said, not moving. “His daughter,” she repeated, her voice steady now, the rehearsed performance beginning. “From another woman. Years ago. Before all of this. Before your mother. Before you.” I stared at her like she had just sprouted wings. But all I could do was whisper, “This has to be a mistake.”