I Watched as My Best Friend Switched Our Daughters, and I Let It Happen

On the day I gave birth, I witnessed my best friend covertly switch our daughters in the hospital.

I chose to say nothing.

Instead, I took her daughter into my arms and raised her as my own.

Eighteen years later, the girl I’d raised was accepted into one of the most prestigious universities.

As for my own daughter, she endured abuse at the hands of my best friend; her spirit shattered, her body crippled.

During the celebration of her daughter's triumph, my best friend arrived with her disabled daughter by her side, holding a DNA test report. She confronted me with a smug, knowing look.

“The hospital swapped our children back then. Now, it’s time to fix that.”

I met her gaze, offering a smile that barely touched my eyes. "Alright, we’ll switch them back."

***

“Kinsley, my mom sent some fresh eggs from the countryside. I thought I’d bring some over for you and Leilani.”

Just like every other time, my best friend knocked on my door, her tone as warm as ever.

Since I’d taken her daughter to raise, she’d shown up frequently, often under the guise of a casual visit.

More than once, she’d claimed she wanted to share parenting advice, though I knew better.

Sometimes, she’d suggest our daughters spend time together, playing and keeping each other’s company.

Once, she even came knocking in the middle of the night, claiming to have had a nightmare about something happening to Leilani.

Carter Jones, my husband, often complained about her constant visits, saying it felt like she was punching in at work.

To make things more convenient, she rented an apartment just a few blocks away, insisting that best friends should live close for mutual support.

But I knew the truth. She simply wanted to be near her daughter, Leilani, watching her every move.

I never called her out on it, letting her think she had me fooled.

So, as always, I opened the door.

There she stood, graceful in a chic long dress, holding a basket of fresh eggs.

Behind her, a thin, bruised girl, my daughter, her complexion pale and sickly.

My best friend had named her Ayla.

The moment she entered, my friend set the basket of eggs down and went straight to Leilani.

"Leilani, your birthday is tomorrow! What do you want as a present? Your godmother will make sure to get it for you!"

We had been through thick and thin together, always as close as sisters.

Right after I gave birth to Leilani, my best friend had eagerly declared her to be her goddaughter.

She now ran her fingers through Leilani's hair with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

Leilani returned the gesture with a sweet, polite smile, answering, "Whatever it is, if it’s from my godmother, I’ll love it!"

Her smile widened, her expression turning even more malicious.

"Leilani is so clever and sweet, unlike that useless child of mine, who’s nothing but a burden!"

She shot a venomous glare at her daughter, who stood by the door, before grabbing her roughly by the ear and yanking her inside.

"Get in here, you worthless fool! What are you standing the...