Then I felt the air leave my lungs.
Probability of maternity: 99.999%.
I blinked.
Read it again.
Read it a third time.
Advertisement
The conclusion never changed. Lily was my biological daughter.
Mine.
I don't remember sitting down.
I only remember suddenly finding myself staring at the floor while tears blurred my vision.
For years, I had mourned a child I believed was dead. I had imagined birthdays she never celebrated and milestones she never reached.
Now, a laboratory report was telling me something impossible.
Advertisement
She had been alive the entire time. And she had spent her entire life less than three miles away.
When Daniel came home that evening, he found me sitting at the kitchen table with both DNA reports spread out in front of me.
One look at my face told him something was wrong.
Without saying a word, I handed him the papers.
As he read, the color slowly drained from his face.
