“What do you mean?”
Her fingers curled weakly around mine.
“The test… it showed something else.”
A pause.
Then, quietly:
“Genetics.”
I felt the room shift.
“Genetics?” I repeated.
She nodded faintly.
“There was a condition they were screening for. Rare, but serious.”
I waited.
“But that’s not why your mother took it.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
“Then why?”
Sarah looked at me, her eyes filled with something deeper than fear.
Something closer to dread.
“Because of the second page.”
It took two days to find the envelope.
Not at our house.
Not in Sarah’s purse.
But in my mother’s car.
Hidden in the glove compartment.
I stared at it for a long time before opening it.
Two sheets of paper.
The first was exactly what Sarah said—medical results, flagged risks, urgent recommendations.
The second…
My hands shook as I read.
DNA analysis.
Paternity confirmation.
99.98% probability.
I exhaled, confused.
Of course.
That made sense.
Then I saw the names.
Tested individual: Michael Carter.
Alleged father: Jonathan Reed.
My vision blurred.
Jonathan Reed.
I knew that name.
Everyone in our family did.
He wasn’t just anyone.
He was my father.
When I looked up from the paper, my mother was standing in the doorway.
I hadn’t heard her come in.
She didn’t look ashamed.
She didn’t look surprised.
She just looked… tired.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said.
My voice came out hollow.
“Explain.”
She stepped inside slowly.
“I had an affair,” she said. “Years ago. Before you were born.”
The room felt like it tilted.
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