**Diary Entry**
*”Here! Take her! I was a fool to listen to you!”* The stranger’s voice cut through the night like a knife.
I’m raising a daughter who was born from my husbands affair. Yes, you read that right. Some might think Ive lost my mind, that I need help. But hear me out before you judge.
It was 2005, and my husband, James, and I had a comfortable life. We ran a small businesshe owned a chain of grocery stores, importing goods from France, Italy, and Germany. His success meant I could focus entirely on our home and our son, Oliver, who was just five at the time. Our days were filled with homemade shepherds pie, Sunday roasts, and spotless floors.
Everything shattered one dreadful evening. We were driving home from dinner with friends, Oliver asleep in the backseat. As we pulled up to the house, I noticed James growing tense. A young woman stood by the gate, clutching a pink baby blanket. The moment we stepped out of the car, she marched toward him and thrust the bundle into his arms.
*”Here! Take her! I was a fool to listen to you and not get rid of her!”*
I stood frozen, the biting January wind whipping around us. Neighbours peeked through their curtains at the commotion. James was silent, staring at the tiny face wrapped in that blanket.
“Lets go inside,” he muttered. “Ill explain everything.”
The woman, it turned out, was a former employee whod left a year priorthough not for the reasons wed been told.
“What do we do with her?” James whispered later, carefully tucking the baby into Olivers old crib.
“What do you mean? We raise her. Shes your daughter.”
I bribed the doctorsa fat envelope in exchange for falsifying my medical records, making it seem Id carried her myself. We named her Violet. There was no hatred in my heart, just the quiet understanding that an innocent child shouldnt pay for her fathers mistakes.
Forgiving James took years. We saw a therapist, even discussed divorce. But time, as they say, is a great healer. I watched him truly repent, bending over backwards to earn back my trust. It wasnt overnightit was a slow, painful road.
Oliver adored Violet. He pushed her pram around the park, bragged to his mates about his baby sister, and never let anyone tease her.
Eighteen years passed. Violet grew into a mirror image of Jameseven the way she wrinkles her nose before a sneeze. I called her my own, though the neighbours still whisper when we walk by.
Last week, we celebrated Violets eighteenth birthdayfirst with family, then she went out with friends. My parents, Jamess mum and dad, and her godparents were all there. Then, uninvited, *she* showed up.
“What are you doing here?” James hissed, steering her away from the house.
“I came to see my daughter. Wheres Charlotte?”
“Her name is *Violet*. What do you want?”
“She has parents already. Youre nothing but a ghost. Eighteen years too late.”
“None of your business where Ive been! Ill take you to court!”
“Get out before I call the police.”
As he shut the gate behind her, I realised nothing could break this family. Wed fight for each other, love each other, no matter what. James, despite everything, is a wonderful father.
And you? Could you love a child that wasnt yours by blood?
