1 My husband, David, and his sister, Michelle, brought a girl home, claiming she was Daisy, our daughter, who’d vanished three years ago. The girl’s face did bear a resemblance to Daisy—maybe a five-point match, as they say—but a cold certainty settled in my gut. “David Miller,” I said, my voice flat, “I’m not so out of touch I wouldn’t recognize my own child.” Yet, he swore it was her. He even had a paternity test report, but I refused to believe it. I took the little girl’s image to the media, hoping to find her real family. I even involved the police. David couldn’t stand my persistence. He had me committed to a psychiatric ward. Then, one day, a stranger online inexplicably tagged me, claiming to know Daisy’s whereabouts. I clicked the link. The address led to a secluded, rural property. In the video, a little girl, emaciated and covered in grime, mimicked a hog, scrabbling for scraps of feed. Her eyes were wide with a terror that clawed at my heart, and she even let out guttural grunts, mimicking the animals. Her face was identical to my missing Daisy. The moment I saw this girl, the one David brought home, I knew, with every fiber of my being, she wasn’t my daughter. I raced to the Sheriff’s Department. “Ms. Miller,” the deputy said, his tone weary. “This case is closed. Your husband has repeatedly confirmed this is your child. Please, don’t misuse public resources.” No matter how I explained, how I pleaded that the little girl was not my child, no one believed me. The officers watched me with an air of polite exasperation. Of course, they wouldn't. A paternity test had confirmed the five-point resemblance was indeed my daughter. A moment later, David arrived, striding into the precinct. He grabbed my hand, his eyes burning with anger, but he quickly masked it with an apologetic smile for the officers. “My apologies, officers. My wife… since our daughter disappeared, she’s been quite distressed. Her mental state isn’t quite stable.” He tried to tug me away. I erupted, yanking my hand free. “Enough!” I cried, tossing the official case closure document at him. “How could I not know what my own daughter looks like? This isn’t Daisy! Daisy doesn’t look like this!” An officer intervened gently, “Children change as they grow, ma’am. It’s been over three years since your daughter vanished.” David’s voice softened, laced with a feigned helplessness as he looked at me. “Sarah, I know Daisy’s disappearance has haunted you, left you sleepless. Now that she’s finally back, why won’t you believe her? She is our daughter. Please, let’s not make a scene. What will others think of her, seeing you like this?” Every eye in the room fell on me, scrutinizing me as if I were truly a madwoman. Three years ago, our family went hiking with David’s sister, Michelle, and her family. My daughter, Daisy, and Michelle’s child, Chloe, went ahead to scout the trail. That’s when Daisy mysteriously disappeared. The police searched endlessly, but she was never found. Every waking moment since, I’ve been consumed by her absence. At night, as soon as I close my eyes, her face fills my vision. The little girl David brought back from the authorities, while resembling Daisy, had an entirely different personality and even the most basic habits were off. I couldn’t understand why every family member, even David, insisted she was our daughter. David led me home. The moment he opened the door, the girl rushed towards me. “Mommy!” she chirped, her voice overly sweet. “The relatives brought so much crab! Daisy loves crab! It’s so fresh and sweet. Mommy, do you want to try some?” She hugged my leg. A jolt of revulsion shot through me, leaving my body rigid. Instinctively, I pushed her away. She stumbled, falling to the floor, and instantly burst into tears. “Mommy, don’t you love Daisy anymore?” Seeing her fall, David quickly scooped her up, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at me. “Sarah Miller, that’s enough! This is our daughter! Why are you kicking her like some maniac?!” The girl clung to David’s neck, whimpering softly, “Daddy, it’s okay. I know Mommy hasn’t accepted me yet.” She reached out a hand towards me. I grabbed her wrist, my grip tight. “Who are you, really? Why are you pretending to be my daughter?” Tears streamed down her face. She sobbed piteously, burying her face against David’s shoulder. “Daddy, why won’t Mommy believe I’m Daisy…?” David carried her to the sofa, calming her. Then he strode back, grabbing my arm, dragging me forcefully to stand before the girl. He released me with a shove, throwing me off balance, and I landed hard on the floor. I looked up. The girl’s lips curved into a fleeting, triumphant smirk. A moment later, her voice turned saccharine again. “Daddy, you hurt Mommy.” “Mommy, I really am Daisy! Look at my necklace. We picked out the beads together at the jewelry store. It’s our secret.” I scrambled forward, frantically examining the necklace around her neck. Her tears flowed anew, uncontrolled. “Mommy, I really didn’t lie! I’m Daisy! Don’t you want me anymore?” I froze. The necklace… it was the one Daisy and I had chosen together. Even the yellow crystal on it had a faint crack, just like I remembered. Just as I was about to question her further, David pulled me roughly away, separating us. “Sarah Miller, that’s enough! You’re questioning our daughter over and over again! She’s been through so much these past few years. It’s perfectly normal for her personality to have changed!” I knew David loved our daughter fiercely. From her infancy, he’d handled everything—her diapers, her outfits. He was devoted. I just couldn’t fathom why he couldn’t recognize his own child. I even began to wonder if my own mind was truly unraveling, but when she touched me, I felt a visceral revulsion I couldn’t control. Just then, David’s adoptive sister, Michelle, arrived. Michelle had always doted on Daisy, spending as much time with her as I did, if not more. 2 When I saw Michelle, it was like seeing a lifeline. “Michelle,” I pleaded, my voice cracking, “Look at this girl! She’s not Daisy, is she?” Michelle’s face registered a flicker of surprise, then an awkward glance at the girl. “Sarah, are you… are you seeing things? This is Daisy.” She even pulled out her phone, showing me photos of Daisy taken years ago, comparing them. It was strange. I remembered Daisy looking differently three years ago, but all the photos Michelle showed me now featured this girl’s face. A cold dread seeped into my bones, a chilling sense of unease spreading through me. David, holding the girl’s hand, looked at me with a mocking glint in his eyes. Just as I was about to speak, the front door opened. My mom had returned from her small town. I felt a surge of desperate hope, clutching her hand tightly. “Mom, you see it, don’t you? She’s not Daisy.” My mom pulled out her phone, carefully comparing the photos. Then, she shook her head slowly. I saw her reaction. Mother knows best, I thought. She must feel it too. But then, she sighed, her gaze filled with a weary sadness. “Sarah, honey, have you been worrying too much about Daisy lately? Are you starting to imagine things?” “This is your daughter, Daisy. You can’t even recognize her. I think you’re really sick, dear. It worries me, you’re still so young…” Her comforting words continued, but my mind was a maelstrom of frantic thoughts. “I’m not sick! She’s not my daughter!” But no matter what I said, everyone stared at me with startled eyes, as if mocking me, the madwoman. A memory flashed in my mind. Daisy had a small, heart-shaped birthmark on her lower back. I refused to believe this girl had it too. I grabbed her, pulling her shirt up. She struggled, resisting frantically, and her shirt accidentally tore. She began to cry, small, helpless whimpers. David instantly scooped her into his arms, then slapped me. My mother, horrified, stepped forward. “Sarah Miller, when did you become so unreasonable? This is your own flesh and blood!” David carried the girl away. I stood there, stunned. I had seen it. The birthmark was there. How? Had I misremembered? Was my daughter’s mark not what I thought? They looked similar, but the eyes, the eyebrows, the chin… they were all wrong. My Daisy had a round face, but this girl’s face was slightly longer. I frantically searched for photos, but every picture I remembered, every image of Daisy in my mind, had been replaced by this girl’s face. Then I remembered. Daisy and Michelle’s daughter, Chloe, were very close. They were together that day when Daisy mysteriously disappeared. I turned to ask Michelle, but she wasn’t there. I tried to call her, but my call wouldn’t go through. My messages on the chat app came back with a red exclamation mark. Why? She had just been here a moment ago. 3 David took the girl directly to his parents’ house, clearly to keep me from “going crazy” again. Still refusing to believe she was my daughter, I started posting messages online, hoping her real parents would see them. The posts gained significant traction. David saw them and accused me of deliberately stirring up trouble. The internet, however, seemed to pity me, while simultaneously condemning me as a madwoman. And that little girl… she sent me messages every single day. “Mommy, Daisy misses you so much. Please, don’t argue with Daddy anymore.” “Daisy will be good.” David also apologized for hitting me, urging me to see a psychiatrist. I ignored his pleas. Instead, I began to sift through Daisy’s belongings, until I found a medical report. It clearly stated that my daughter had a severe seafood allergy; she couldn’t eat any of it. I remembered vividly how, because of this, David and I had stopped buying seafood, terrified of risking her health. The time she accidentally ate a single shrimp at preschool and broke out in hives was etched into my memory. She’s not allergic to seafood! Like a drowning person clutching at a straw, I immediately drove to David’s parents’ house. I saw Michelle peeling crab for the girl. Overwhelmed, I lunged forward, grabbing the girl’s hand. “You’re allergic to seafood! How can you eat crab? Tell me, where is my daughter?!” The girl cried piteously, looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes. “Mommy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pulled her, intending to take her to the hospital. Michelle quickly intervened, grabbing my arm. “Enough! Isn’t it too much, the way you’re questioning this child?” My eyes fixed on Michelle, and in that instant, I suddenly saw it. The girl’s eyebrows… they looked so much like Michelle’s. As I froze, Michelle let out a sharp cry. I felt a forceful shove. Both the girl and I tumbled down the stairs. I heard footsteps from the entrance and turned to see David rushing towards us, his face etched with panic. Michelle, meanwhile, scrambled down the stairs, feigning terror. “David!” she wailed, her voice thick with tears. “Sarah’s really gone crazy! She actually tried to kill Daisy!” As I fell down the stairs, my instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around the girl, shielding her body, taking the brunt of the impact myself. David quickly lifted the girl into his arms. She clung to his sleeve, her eyes wide and innocent. “Daddy, I thought Mommy came to find me because she remembered me. But she just kept pulling my hand, no matter if I wanted to or not.” “When Aunt Michelle tried to help me, she actually tried to push me down the stairs! Does Mommy really not love me anymore?” Her cries were unbearable. I couldn’t control my voice. “Enough! You’re not my Daisy! And I didn’t try to push you!” David held her close, his eyes blazing with fury at me. “Sarah Miller, I misjudged you! Do you think a child, so small, just rolls down the stairs on her own?!” “No, I didn’t…” I started to protest, but Michelle interjected from the side. “David, I think Sarah’s condition is getting worse. She’s starting to hallucinate, even doing things that could harm people.” I remembered the medical report I’d found earlier. “No! I didn’t! David, this girl is allergic to seafood, she can’t…” The little girl, still nestled against David, continued to sob. “Daddy, Aunt Michelle, my body hurts so much.” I grabbed David’s pant leg, desperate for him to take her to get checked for allergies. David, with a look of utter helplessness, shook my hand away. My head hit the floor, and everything went black. 4 When I next awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed. A nurse walked in. “Severe mental disorientation. You’ll be staying here for a while.” I grabbed her hand. “Where is this? Where’s David?” “Your family admitted you to a psychiatric facility. Your mental condition is quite serious. You can only leave once you’re fully recovered.” Just as I was about to speak again, someone pulled open the curtain of the adjacent bed. “Keep it down, will ya?” It was a boy, no older than ten, hunched over a laptop, eyes fixed on lines of strange code. Trapped there, I found him to be a quiet companion. He often advised me to give up struggling, saying I’d only leave when family came to collect me. Out of sheer desperation, I began drawing. I drew Daisy, over and over, trying to capture the girl I remembered. I still believed my daughter was out there, vanished. The more I drew, the more sketches piled up. The boy, observing my frenzy, eventually used his computer to generate a picture from my drawings. I stared at the AI-generated photo. This was my daughter. My Daisy. Tears streamed down my face. “Please, kid,” I pleaded, my voice hoarse. “Can you find this girl for me? She’s my daughter.” I poured out everything that had happened, telling him about the fake Daisy, the pig farm video, my family’s disbelief. He listened, then used his laptop to log into my old social media accounts. There, among my posts, were old sketches of Daisy. I saw a private message, an account tagged. I found the account. It was empty, yet the profile page boasted hundreds of thousands of likes on old posts. An unsettling feeling seized me. I urgently begged the boy to do something. His fingers danced across the keyboard. Soon, that account was open on his screen. In the private section, there were several videos, each with tens of thousands of likes. In them, a small girl, mimicking a hog, was eating from a trough. Her clothes were filthy, her body emaciated. I watched video after video, tears streaming down my face, uncontrolled. This girl… this was my daughter. The one who’d been missing for three years. I scrutinized her face, confirming it again and again. It was Daisy. Seeing my desperate state, the boy quickly pinpointed the IP address.
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