The Fake Heiress Stole My Medicine, So I Exposed His Darkest Secret

Eight months pregnant with twins, and I'd just been diagnosed with gestational diabetes.

When diet and exercise alone couldn't keep my blood sugar under control, my doctor prescribed insulin and made it absolutely clear: I had to inject on time, every time, no exceptions.

But Lindsay Swanson snatched up my insulin and hid it behind her back, pulling me to my feet.

"Insulin's bad for the babies. Exercise can bring your blood sugar down just the same."

Clumsy and off-balance as I was, all I could do was wrap both arms around my belly and let Lindsay lead me onto the treadmill.

Then she cranked the speed up and smacked me across the backside with a wire hanger.

"Move faster! Are you a pig? Why are you so slow?"

"Look at all that fat. No wonder you've got diabetes."

My stomach seized in sharp, cramping waves. I begged her three times to let me get off. She didn't even blink.

I had no choice but to call out to my husband, who was working in his study.

When Dale Sanchez saw the state I was in, all he said was:

"Lindsay is a resident at Capital General. She's a top student at one of the best medical schools in the world."

"She's your sister. She wouldn't hurt you."

Then he turned and walked away.

The light in my eyes went out.

If you don't love me, and you don't love these children, then let your bloodline end here.

Watching Dale's retreating back, I knew this man would never be someone I could count on.

The moment he was gone, Lindsay jabbed the speed button over and over, slamming it higher.

"Did you hear that? Dale told you to listen to me. Speed up!"

I was forced to match the treadmill's accelerating pace, but my belly was enormous with twins. Within seconds, the pain in my abdomen sharpened, and a tightening pressure clamped down like a vise.

My reflexes kicked in. I ripped the emergency safety clip off the machine.

Momentum threw me hard to the ground. I locked both arms around my stomach as my elbows and thighs slammed against the floor. The pain was blinding.

The crash brought Dale back. He took one look at me sitting on the floor, and his face twisted with irritation.

"All this noise from walking on a treadmill?"

"Why are you sitting on the floor? Get up."

A flash of panic crossed Lindsay's eyes, but she composed herself in an instant.

"She called me a quack and pulled the emergency clip off herself."

Dale stared down at me. He made no move to help me up.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You're pregnant. What if you'd hurt the babies?"

"Why can't you just listen to Lindsay?"

Even knowing Dale didn't love me, his words still cut to the bone.

"Why are you blaming me? I'm the victim here. Why aren't you saying a single word to her?"

"Anyone with eyes can see that I'm in no condition to exercise at this stage. Lindsay forced me onto that treadmill. How is that not putting me and the babies in danger?"

"Dale Sanchez, are you blind?"

Dale let out a cold, derisive laugh.

"My mother is diabetic too. She exercises every single day to manage her blood sugar. You're the one who's ignorant."

"Lindsay is a top student at one of the finest medical schools in the country. You graduated from some no-name college. What gives you the right to question her?"

Lindsay's eyes reddened on cue.

"Dale, it's all my fault. I pushed her too hard, and she got hurt. She almost hurt the babies because of me. Don't blame her. Blame me instead."

Dale gently patted Lindsay's shoulder.

"This is not your fault. Ignorant people never realize their own mistakes."

"Lindsay, don't do this to yourself. It breaks my heart."

Without my insulin, my head was spinning, my mouth was parched, and I could barely stand. I forced myself back to the bedroom and tore through every inch of the room searching for it. Every drawer, every shelf, every corner. Nothing.

My whole body was shaking as I pointed at Lindsay.

"Lindsay Swanson, did you hide my insulin?"

"Give it back. Now."

Tears welled in Lindsay's eyes, then spilled down her cheeks, splashing onto the floor.

"How can you accuse me of something like that?" Her voice cracked. "Is that really what you think of me? That I'm some kind of monster?"

Dale stepped in front of Lindsay, shielding her behind him. His gaze cut toward Hildegarde like a blade.

"Where's your proof? What gives you the right to accuse her?"

"Don't think that carrying my children entitles you to do whatever you want."

"I've told you before. I will never love you. Not in this lifetime. Lindsay is the only woman I'll ever love. I told you not to start trouble. Were you even listening, or did my words mean nothing to you?"

How could I not know?

The day the Swansons found her and brought her home happened to be the same day Athena Sanchez arrived with Dale to discuss his engagement to Lindsay.

The moment Hildegarde walked through the door, Athena's eyes locked onto her with a hungry, appraising stare.

"Now this girl," Athena said, circling her like she was inspecting livestock. "Good frame. Rosy complexion. You can tell just by looking at herhealthy constitution, regular cycles."

Before Rod Swanson or Annabel Swanson could object, Athena had already dragged both girls to the hospital for a full physical examination.

The results were predictable. Hildegarde was perfectly healthy. Lindsay was underweight, fragile, and diagnosed with PCOS.

The truth was, Hildegarde and Lindsay had been born on the same day. Lindsay's biological parents had heard Hildegarde's strong, lusty cries and compared them to Lindsay's feeble mewling. They'd switched the babies in secret.

If not for a routine checkup years later, Rod and Annabel would never have known their daughter had been swapped.

Athena studied the medical reports, then clasped Hildegarde's hand, her eyes crinkling with satisfaction.

"This one. She can bear children."

She turned to Dale. "You'll marry her."

Dale glared at Hildegarde as though she were the source of every misfortune in his life.

"Lindsay and I have been engaged since we were children. How can you expect me to break that promise?"

Athena's expression hardened, her voice turning razor-sharp.

"Your engagement was with the Swanson family. Not with Lindsay specifically. This is their biological daughter."

She lowered her voice, each word deliberate.

"Or have you forgotten your condition? Your low sperm count? If you don't marry a woman who can actually conceive, you'll end the family line. Is that what you want? To hand everything over to your father's mistress overseas and her bastard son?"

As for Rod and Annabel, they simply wanted a daughter married into the Sanchez family to cement the alliance. Which daughter it was made no difference to them.

And just like that, Hildegarde found herself married to Dale Sanchez.

The wedding reception hadn't even ended when he cornered her, his voice low and venomous.

"I will only ever love Lindsay. Never you. Not for a single day."

"Play the part of a good wife. Give me children. Do that, and I won't mistreat you."

"But if you cross Lindsayif you so much as make her uncomfortableI will make you regret it."

The memory shattered as her phone buzzed in her hand. A notification from the security system. Someone had entered her room.

It was Lindsay. Clear as day on the footage.

In the video, Lindsay picked up the insulin and walked out.

Hildegarde held the phone in front of Dale's face.

"The surveillance footage is right here. Lindsay took my insulin. Are you still going to defend her?"

Her voice dropped, quiet and raw.

"You don't love me. Fine. But do you not love your own children either?"

Lindsay bowed her head, biting her lip hard enough to leave marks.

"I'm sorry, Dale," she whispered. "I did hide the insulin."

She looked up, eyes glistening. "But I only did it for the babies. It was just a white lie."

Dale pulled Lindsay into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Then he turned to Hildegarde, and the look in his eyes could have drawn blood.

"If you ask me, this is all your fault."

"If you weren't so lazyif you'd actually exercised instead of relying entirely on medicationLindsay would never have felt the need to hide it."

"And now she's the one being blamed. She's the one suffering because of you."

Even with the evidence right in front of him, he still chose Lindsay.

The room tilted. Black spots crowded the edges of Hildegarde's vision, and her knees buckled. She hit the floor before she could catch herself.

As consciousness slipped away, she could feel the gurney wheels squeaking beneath her, rushing down the corridor.

The doctor's voice came in fragments:

"The diabetic ketoacidosis was caused by dangerously elevated blood sugar levels."

"Ultrasound also shows fetal growth restriction and abnormal fetal heart monitoring. We need to perform an emergency C-section immediately."

When I woke up, Athena Sanchez, Dale, and Lindsay were all sitting around my hospital bed.

My hands went instinctively to my stomach. It was flat. Empty. A nurse told me the babies were in incubators.

Athena sat there with a stone-cold expression.

"If you're diabetic, you should be taking your insulin on time. Even if you didn't graduate from some fancy university, you should have at least that much common sense."

I closed my eyes.

"You're right. What kind of medical student doesn't even have that much common sense."

Athena's scolding didn't stop.

"We let Dale marry you because you were supposed to be healthy. Now I see you're nothing but a pretty vase with nothing inside. You can't even carry a pregnancy properly."

"He should've married Lindsay instead. They'd probably have a whole houseful of grandchildren by now."

Her words went in one ear and out the other. My mind was on the babies. Only the babies.

When I didn't respond, her voice climbed higher and sharper.

"Weren't you always so proud of your health? How did you end up diabetic?"

"Did you bribe the doctor during the prenuptial physical? Was this whole marriage a scam?"

I almost laughed from the sheer absurdity. I never wanted to get married. It was the Swansons who forced me, holding my adoptive parents' lives over my head.

I had to admit, though, that during the twenty-some years of the switch, my adoptive parents had loved me like their own flesh and blood.

Lindsay, on the other hand, had suffered plenty growing up in the Swanson household.

But none of that changed the facts. Before the pregnancy, I'd been perfectly healthy. My blood sugar spiked after I conceived. The OB explained that the babies had inherited their father's diabetic genes, and it had wrecked my glucose levels along with them.

If it weren't for the Sanchezes, I never would have developed diabetes in the first place.

Lindsay walked up behind Athena and placed her hands on the older woman's shoulders.

"Don't get upset, Auntie. Stress is the worst thing for your health."

"Let me give you a little massage, okay?"

Lindsay's fingers kneaded gently. Athena's expression softened into one of approval.

"See, Lindsay knows how to behave. Not like you. Either you sit there like a mute, or you open your mouth and bite someone's head off."

"Raised outside the family. No manners whatsoever."

I let out a long breath.

"Dale. Let's get a divorce."

"I don't want a single penny. I only have one condition. Both children come with me."

Athena nearly shot out of her chair.

"Take my grandchildren? Over my dead body."

"You want a divorce? Fine. Get out."

"We don't keep useless women in this family."

Dale's face was blank. Unreadable.

"You're not taking the children. They're Sanchez heirs."

"I'll agree to the divorce, but not for another six months."

"You'll breastfeed both children until they're weaned. Then we divorce."

He walked over to Lindsay's side.

"After you leave, Lindsay will raise them. She'll be their mother."

"You were only ever a vessel. A tool for pregnancy and delivery. You'll do as you're told." His eyes were flat and cold. "And if you don't, believe me, I have plenty of ways to make you."

With that, he helped Athena up with one hand, took Lindsay's hand with the other, and walked out of the room.

Dale had barely left the hospital when a nurse came rushing in.

"Both babies are showing respiratory distress. They're being resuscitated right now."

I dragged myself out of bed, C-section wound screaming, anesthesia still clouding my limbs. I stumbled to the doors of the emergency room and signed the consent forms with shaking hands.

I called Dale. Over and over. More than a dozen times.

He didn't pick up once.

I had no choice but to call Lindsay.

That was when I saw her latest post on social media. Dale was in the photo, grinning from ear to ear.

"Dale says me and our baby are number one in his heart."

The photo attached was an NT scan from a prenatal checkup, and the location tag placed them at the very same hospital where my babies and I were.

My nails dug into my palms until they broke skin. Hatred spread through me like wildfire.

The doors to the resuscitation room swung open. The doctor's face was grim.

"The twin girl didn't make it. We're still working on the boy."

My chest seized. A gush of warmth flooded beneath me. I reached down instinctively, and my hand came back drenched in red.

"Postpartum hemorrhage! I need help in here, now!"

When I woke again, the doctor told me the boy hadn't made it either.

My fingers clenched the bedsheet until my knuckles turned white. Tears poured down my face, but no sound came out. Not a single sound.

My phone screen lit up. An email notification slid into view, from an overseas reproductive research facility:

Mr. Dale Sanchez, we regret to inform you that the semen sample you submitted contained a sperm count of zero and cannot be used for biological research. We appreciate your contribution to...

Five months ago, after my twin pregnancy had stabilized, Dale had convinced himself he was fertile again.

Eager to prove his virility, he'd dragged me to an overseas research institute to donate sperm for a biological study. Then he'd rushed off to see Lindsay, who was still in school at the time, and left all the follow-up paperwork to me. My contact information was the one on file.

Which meant Lindsay's baby couldn't possibly be Dale's.

My hatred peaked. A cold, mocking smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Dale, if you knew Lindsay's child wasn't yours, would you still be smiling?

At the twins' funeral, I cried until my legs gave out.

Lindsay appeared in the memorial hall wearing a plunging red bodycon dress, a Sanchez family heirloom necklace glittering at her throat.

She rested one hand on her belly and walked straight toward me.

"Like it?" She touched the necklace. "Dale gave it to me. A reward for carrying his baby, he said."

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.

"Hildegarde, everything that happened today is exactly what you deserve."

"Why did my biological parents throw me away and keep you instead? Do you have any idea how many years I spent in the Swanson house wishing I were dead? And then you come back, and Dale, the man who grew up with me, the man who swore I was the only woman he'd ever love, leaves me too? You two made me the laughingstock of our entire circle. Now I'm taking back everything that was always mine."

"The Sanchez fortune will be inherited by my child. You and your children were never anything more than casualties."

Understanding settled in my eyes like ice forming over still water.

"You don't love Dale at all, do you? You actually hate him. Because he abandoned you and turned you into a joke in front of every wealthy family in the city."

"This whole devoted-lover act is just about money. You want to bleed him dry."

"Aren't you afraid Dale will find out the baby isn't his?"

Lindsay didn't flinch. Her composure was absolute.

"That's slander. My baby is Dale's, and this child is the sole heir to the Sanchez family."

Around us, the other mourners had started whispering, their eyes fixed on Lindsay.

"Dressed like that at a funeral? Disgraceful."

"Exactly. No class whatsoever."

"Obviously the mistress. Homewrecker."

Dale rushed in and pulled Lindsay behind him, shielding her.

"Lindsay just wanted to lighten the mood. She meant well."

"Besides, Lindsay is carrying my child. She's done the Sanchez family a great service."

I watched him stand there without a shred of grief for the two babies we had just buried, and the urge to tear him apart nearly consumed me.

If not for him, my children never would have been born premature. They never would have died.

"Dale, those were your children too. How can you be this heartless?" My voice cracked. "Are you even human?"

Dale looked at me without a trace of warmth in his eyes.

"I only married you because I had no choice. Lindsay is carrying the Sanchez family's firstborn grandson. My first child. If I don't even care about Lindsay, why would I care about you? And if I don't care about her baby, why would I care about two dead little losers?"

I had nothing more to say to this animal who didn't deserve to be called human.

I watched as the tiny bodies were fed into the cremation furnace, still curled in on themselves. When the tray slid back out, there was nothing left but fine bone fragments. Almost nothing at all. My heart clenched so tight I thought it would collapse.

Lindsay nestled into Dale's arms.

"Dale, if you and my sister get divorced, her children won't be entered into the Sanchez family registry. Burying children who aren't even in the registry at the Sanchez family plot would only bring shame to the family."

Dale nodded. "Find somewhere and scatter the ashes. I don't care where."

One look from him, and the security guards moved in to take the urns.

I shielded them like a woman possessed, clutching them to my chest with everything I had.

"Dale, do you have any idea that Lindsay's baby isn't yours? You can't even father children."

"And because you helped Lindsay murder your own flesh and blood, this is your punishment. You will never have another child for the rest of your life."

"Your bloodline ends here."