That night, in her cardboard refuge, Dana fed the baby. He drank as if his life depended on it—because it did. The baby fell asleep. Dana did not. She gripped the silver chain tightly. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, “we’re going to that big house. And I’m going to get answers.”
By morning, the rain had ceased. Dana walked for hours to the hills where the wealthy lived. When she finally reached the Harrison mansion, it wasn’t the beauty that shocked her—it was the party. Flowers. Luxury cars. Music. A banner read: WELCOME HOME, LIAM HARRISON.
Blue and gold balloons. A celebration. While the real baby had nearly frozen in a box. Rage burned away Dana’s fear. She climbed the wall, slipped through the hedges, and reached a massive window. Inside stood Thomas Harrison and his elegant wife Elizabeth, cradling an impeccable baby dressed in white.
Dana’s world shattered. Then she saw her. A servant was approaching with a tray. Black uniform. White apron. Dana recognized her instantly. The woman from the dump. Olivia.