I did.
He’d told me he wanted to compare the maternal and paternal sides of the family.
I’d laughed while doing the cheek swab.
“That test?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with Rebecca?”
Michael took a breath.
“She was already in the database.”
He explained that he’d received an unexpected close-family match.
At first, he’d assumed there was a mistake.
Rebecca was 36. The amount of shared DNA didn’t make sense for a distant cousin.
So Michael contacted her.
She told him she’d been adopted as a newborn.
“She knew your maiden name,” he said. “It was in some of the paperwork she’d managed to get.”
I felt sick.
“And that’s why you tested me?”
“I needed to be sure.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve asked.”
“I didn’t know what I was asking yet.”
I turned to David.
“When did you find out?”
“Michael came to me after your results came back.”
“And they showed?”
Michael nodded.
“She’s my half-sister.”
The word seemed impossible.
Sister.
My son had a sister older than he was.
And I had a daughter older than all three of my boys.
“What did Rebecca say?”
Michael rubbed his hands together.
“She didn’t want to meet you.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“Why?”
“She wasn’t looking for a mother. That’s what she told me. She wanted information about where she came from.”
“Did she know I thought she was dead?”
“Not at first.”
I looked at him.
“You told her?”
“Eventually.”
“And?”
“She didn’t believe me.”
Of course she didn’t.
Why would she?
From Rebecca’s perspective, she’d been given up.
From mine, she’d been buried somewhere I’d never even been allowed to visit.
Two completely different lives had grown from the same lie.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
David answered.
“Because I asked him not to.”
I slowly turned toward him.
“You did what?”
