I never thought my biggest betrayal would come from someone I once called “my child.”
Fifteen years ago, my husband brought a boy into our home—a poor distant cousin whose parents had died in a car crash. He was only ten then, scared and broken. We took him in, fed him, clothed him, paid his school fees, and loved him like our own. I treated him no differently from my children. He called me “Mum.” He called my daughter “sister.”
Fast forward to last year. My daughter, Ada, just 18, began acting strange. She became withdrawn, moody, and constantly sick. I thought it was, The full story is worth reading—tap here now to see the full breakdown!
