Raising five children alone required relentless effort. I worked tirelessly, cleaned houses by day, sewed at night, and stretched every coin. Though money was scarce, our home was rich with laughter, stories, and love. I answered my children’s questions honestly, teaching them dignity rather than bitterness.
Years later, DNA testing confirmed what I always knew: they were my biological children. A rare genetic mutation explained their appearance. Relief came with sorrow—truth had arrived decades too late.
