I never expected a simple garage sale to turn my entire world upside down. While browsing my mother-in-law Margaret’s sale, I stumbled across something that stopped me cold—a pink baby blanket I had knitted for my daughter, Daisy. The same blanket I believed was buried with her five years ago. You see, I was told Daisy died the day she was born. After giving birth and holding her for just a moment, I was sedated. When I woke up, my husband Aaron and Margaret told me there had been complications—our baby girl didn’t make it. I was heartbroken. Too weak to attend the funeral,
I trusted them when they said they laid her to rest. But seeing that blanket again reopened every wound. I demanded answers.Aaron finally confessed: Daisy hadn’t died. Margaret had pressured him into secretly giving our baby to his sister Ellen,