ME: Staring down at the sweet baby in my arms, I feel panic instead of love. Because this isn’t the child I gave birth to. My husband whispers to the midwife. They all think I’m going crazy. But the tiny boy in my arms is crying again. I’m certain: he knows I’m not his mummy. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get my son back.

The day I was told I’d never be able to have a child, my world came crashing down. My husband says he still loves me, but I lie awake at night, wishing we could have a family. One morning, my husband’s side of the bed is cold and empty. I hear a noise and head downstairs. In the middle of the rug in my living room is a wooden drawer. Swaddled inside, with perfect rosy cheeks and beautiful round blue eyes, a baby gazes up at me.

I thought handsome, charming Blake would be the perfect fit for my quiet and sweet-natured friend Melanie. Widowed far too young, she deserved a second chance at love. So, when he proposed so soon after I set them up on a date, I convinced myself that the timing was just right. But I should have stopped it. I tried to ignore Blake’s controlling behavior. It started small; telling her not to have a glass of champagne to celebrate their engagement, putting cameras up around her house for “safety”. But Mel seemed so happy and in love, I couldn’t bring myself to share my creeping doubts.

I’m in shock. This is impossible. Because earlier this evening when the Smiths left for their fancy charity gala—Lara in high heels and a floor-length gown, Corbin in a tux—they never mentioned a baby. And they certainly didn’t show me this nursery room, up in the eaves of their sprawling, beachfront mansion.

I planned the perfect vacation. But now my son is missing. Everyone believes my husband Donovan and I have it all—a loving marriage, two adorable children and the dream house. But beneath the surface of our enviable American lifestyle lies a secret that binds us tighter than our vows.