I thought losing Rachel, my best friend since childhood, was the worst pain I’d ever feel. I stood by her through cancer until the end, grieving her deeply after she passed. Then, six months later, her sister Amanda showed up with a little girl — and a secret.

Amanda claimed Rachel’s daughter, Lily, was my husband Daniel’s. She said Rachel told her the night Lily was born, after a drunken housewarming party. Daniel went pale, then told me something even more shocking: he didn’t consent. He hadn’t said no — because he couldn’t. He was unconscious.

Amanda dropped off Lily’s things and left. I asked Daniel to leave, too — just for a few days, so I could think. But I couldn’t shake the feeling Rachel had betrayed me. If it were just a fling, why wouldn’t she tell me? Why hide it, even on her deathbed?

The DNA test changed everything. Daniel wasn’t the father. We tested twice to be sure. Amanda admitted Rachel always envied me — my life, my marriage — and maybe she wanted what I had. The truth died with her. But Daniel and I chose to rebuild. We chose truth. And now, we’re expecting a daughter of our own.