I always knew my mother-in-law didn’t like me, but I never expected her to go this far.

Things got worse when I got pregnant. She criticized everything I did and made it clear she thought I wasn’t good enough for her son. When we found out we were having a girl, she exploded in rage, screaming that I was “worthless” for not giving him a son.

Even during labor, she crossed the line — barging into the delivery room and snatching my baby from my arms like she owned her.

A week later, she handed my husband a sealed envelope. He opened it, turned pale, and told me coldly to leave with our baby — I had one hour. The envelope held a DNA test claiming he wasn’t the father.

I was heartbroken. I begged him to believe me, but he didn’t. And she stood there smiling.

Homeless and crushed, I found shelter with a friend. Then, slowly, I fought back. I contacted the lab and asked for a retest.

The truth? My mother-in-law had faked the results.

When I sent the real ones to my husband, proving he was the father, he called in tears, begging me to come back.

But it was too late.

He believed a lie over his wife and child.

I chose peace. I chose my daughter. I chose me.