Novel & Cerita Since She's Not Your Daughter Who Exactly Is She

Charlotte, you told me that Shelly is your daughter, so she's technically a piece of you, but why can't I help but notice that from the moment Shelly reappeared in our lives…you haven't even given her a second glance? "Are you…really her mother?"

Once she was satisfied with the space between us, however, her previous bravado returned. She pulled her shoulders back and said, “So that’s what this is about: that little girl. You think she’ll replace your dead daughter, don’t you? Well, she won’t. She’s not yours, Agnes, and she never will be.”

"But she's my sister..." "No." I cut her off, cold as ice. "She is not your sister. She is your father's daughter. Not mine. Don't forget that." Her wide eyes searched my face as though she had never heard it spoken so plainly before. But it was the truth. Layla was not mine. She never had been.

she poured out. “Since you wouldn't want to listen, I have to make some things clear to you. Yes, the child on that result is my daughter. And I owe you no explanation for that.” I muttered aggressively. “I don't need your explanation either,” she muttered. “You actually don't have anything to tell me at this point!” She poured out bitterly.

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.

"I got the results, and according to the results, she is not your biological daughter." "What? How is that possible? I gave birth to her, so how could she not be my daughter!"

Confused. “Who are you? Who the hell are you?” she shouted, her frail voice filled with fear. “What are you doing here? Get off me!” My chest caved in, but I couldn’t give up. I had to try again. “I’m your daughter,” I said, trembling. “Mom... it’s me. Evelyn.” “I don’t have a daughter!” she yelled, eyes wide with terror. “She died! She died in that accident! You’re not her—you’re not my daughter!”

Fans flooded my page, begging. [Stella, please. Just give me one chance.] [You're one of Carmoria's best dancers. You made us proud overseas. Let us see you live!] I laughed. I was about to set up a giveaway when a comment popped up: [What's there to be proud of? She's used-up trash. She lost her baby in a car crash. Who cares how well she dances? Who knows how many men she slept with to become principal?] I clicked the profile without thinking.

"Please. Everyone knows exactly how many kids the executives have and how old they are. So she's definitely not anyone's daughter." "Not a daughter — could be something else though..." "Ugh, seriously? God, I knew something was off the second I saw her. The more I think about it the worse it gets—"