When my daughter Elena returned after five long years, I was overjoyed — until she showed up on my doorstep with a man I’d never met, Darren, and a 6-month-old baby named Chloe. She introduced the baby as Darren’s daughter, whose mother had supposedly passed away. I was stunned but said nothing, afraid to push her away again. Our reunion felt fragile. Elena was distant yet tender with the baby, and Darren barely spoke. Something felt off, but I tried to stay hopeful — until the next morning,

when I woke to find them both gone. Just Chloe remained, in a crib, with a single handwritten note beside her: “Sorry.” In shock, I called social services. I didn’t know what else to do. Later, I was told the truth — Chloe’s mother, Jenna, wasn’t dead. She had voluntarily checked into a psychiatric facility after suffering postpartum depression, and losing her parents. Darren had lied. And somehow, my daughter had become part of it. I went to see Jenna. She was heartbroken, devastated that her child had been abandoned. I couldn’t explain why Elena had done it — I still can’t — but I offered to help. I petitioned for temporary custody of Chloe and,