At my wedding, my mom smiled for the cameras and said, “We’re giving the car his parents gave you to your sister.” Everyone laughed. I didn’t. Two weeks earlier, I’d notarized a document protecting gifts in my name. That night, my sister posted a selfie with “her car.” In the middle of the reception, I slid an envelope across the table—and watched my mother’s smile finally crack. That was the moment my family learned I wasn’t theirs anymore.

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The night I got married, the room smelled like sugar and nerves. The hotel ballroom had been transformed into something out of a glossy magazine—candles on every table, flowers arching over the…