Chapter 9 - THE DNA TESTI couldn't breathe.
“My father died when I was eight.”
Lauren stared at the file.
“Your mother's records say something different.”
“What?”
“She listed your father as Richard Collins.”
“That was my father.”
“Legally.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your family history may not be what you were told.”
Margaret sat down.
She looked devastated.
“Daniel knew,” she whispered.
“What did he know?”
“Your mother came to him years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Margaret looked at Brandon.
Then me.
“You were born from a fertility procedure.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Your mother had fertility problems.”
“You're lying.”
“She used a donor.”
I felt my knees weaken.
“My parents…”
“Richard adopted you legally.”
I stared at Margaret.
“How do you know?”
“Because Daniel told me.”
The room went silent.
“Why would he?”
“Because he had been searching for you.”
“Why?”
“He believed you inherited something from him.”
The pieces began connecting.
The genetic research.
The twins.
The medical files.
Me.
He hadn't been studying my daughters first.
He had been studying me.
I looked at Brandon.
“Did your mother know any of this before we met?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then when did she find out?”
“The fertility clinic.”
“Why did they tell her?”
“Because Daniel contacted her.”
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly, my entire childhood felt like a story someone else had written.
My memories of my father.
His smile.
His voice.
The bedtime stories.
Were they all lies?
Lauren placed a hand on the table.
“We need to confirm the DNA.”
“I want the test.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
The results took forty-eight hours.
During those two days, Brandon barely slept.
Neither did I.
Megan vanished.
Her phone was disconnected.
Her apartment was empty.
And Margaret refused to tell us where she might be.
On the second night, a strange package arrived.
No sender.
Inside was a small envelope.
Two DNA swabs.
And a note.
TEST THE CHILDREN. NOT YOURSELF.
I looked at Brandon.
“What does that mean?”
We sent the samples to a private laboratory.
The results came back the next morning.
Lauren opened the email.
She read silently.
Then she looked at me.
“The twins are genetically related.”
I exhaled.
“At least that's something.”
She shook her head.
“Not to Brandon.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Neither girl matches Brandon.”
I looked at him.
He stared at the floor.
“And their biological father?”
Lauren swallowed.
“One father.”
My hands trembled.
“Who?”
She looked at the report.
“Daniel Reeves.”
Everything inside me collapsed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“But Daniel was dead before…”
Lauren interrupted.
“The DNA doesn't lie.”
Brandon stood.
“Then how?”
Lauren pulled up the timeline.
“Daniel was alive nine months before the twins were born.”
I stared at Brandon.
He looked sick.
“I didn't know.”
“How could you not know?”
“I thought the donor was anonymous.”
Lauren pointed at another line.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“The twins weren't conceived from the clinic donor program.”
“They were.”
“No.”
She turned the monitor toward us.
“They were conceived from a sample listed under the name of…”
She stopped.
“Say it.”
Lauren whispered,
“Emily Carter.”
I stared at the report.
My own name.
Then another line appeared.
Biological mother: Emily Carter.
Biological father: Daniel Reeves.
The twins were mine.
And Daniel's.
But there was one final note.
Embryo created twenty-nine years ago.
I looked up.
“That’s impossible.”
Lauren's face was pale.
“It gets worse.”
She clicked the laboratory note.
“The embryos were never destroyed.”
There were three.
Two had been used.
May you like
One remained frozen.
And according to the records, the third embryo had been transferred to another woman.
