I told myself I was being paranoid, that I needed closure, that I was doing it so I could finally stop wondering.
But the truth was much simpler.
For the first time in years, I wasn't sure I believed the story I'd been told.
Three weeks later, the results arrived.
I expected the report to prove I had lost my mind.
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Instead, it destroyed everything I thought I knew.
I opened the email alone at my kitchen table. The house was quiet, and for a brief moment, I considered waiting for Daniel to get home. Then I reminded myself how ridiculous this entire situation was.
The test would finally put an end to all of it.
The similarities.
The questions.
The conversation I overheard at Thanksgiving.
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I clicked the report and began reading.
At first, nothing seemed unusual. Then I reached the conclusion.
I read it once.
Then again.
