"Grace isn't your daughter," I said clearly. "She's mine."The champagne glass slipped from Sarah's hand, shattering on the marble floor."What did you say?" Her voice shook."Your real daughter is Mistake, the one you've been torturing in the basement for eighteen years."My hand touched the DNA test results in my pocket. Sarah laughed, high and hysterical. "You're lying. My Grace is perfect. She's brilliant. She's going to Harvard!""Check her left side," I said calmly. "There's a butterfly birthmark. My daughter was born with that mark."The room went silent as Sarah yanked up Grace's dress.There it was - the butterfly, stark against Grace's pale skin.Sarah stumbled backward. "No... no, it's not possible...""Mother?" Grace reached for her, concerned. Sarah's hand cracked across Grace's face."Don't touch me, you filthy piece of trash!" she screamed. "You're nothing but that whore's spawn!"Grace touched her cheek, tears welling in her eyes."How dare you pretend to be my daughte
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