For several seconds, nobody moved.
Michael stared at me.
I stared at the phone in my hand.
And Lily waited on the other end.
Finally, I managed to speak.
“What DNA report?”
Lily’s voice remained cold.
“The one Carol sent me.”
Michael stepped closer.
“Put her on speaker.”
I did.
“Lily,” Michael said carefully.
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
“Michael?”
He closed his eyes when she said his name.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“You really didn’t know about me?”
Michael’s face crumpled.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
His voice shook.
“But I’m asking you to hear me.”
Lily breathed slowly on the other end.
Michael continued.
“I found out you existed less than an hour ago.”
“That’s not what Carol said.”
“I know.”
“She showed me letters.”
“They were fake.”
“She showed me payment records.”
“Those were fake too.”
“She showed me a DNA report.”
Michael looked at me.
“What exactly did the report say?”
Lily hesitated.
“That David Miller wasn’t your biological father.”
My stomach tightened.
Michael’s expression became unreadable.
“Can you send us a picture of it?”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve already found several forged documents.”
There was silence.
Then Lily said:
“I’ll send it.”
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived.
Michael and I leaned over the screen.
The report looked official.
Laboratory name.
Case number.
Dates.
Percentages.
And near the bottom:
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 0.00%.
Michael whispered:
“Oh, God.”
I felt strangely empty.
After everything we had discovered, one more lie should not have surprised me.
But this one struck somewhere different.
Because I had only just found my son.
And now a document was telling me he might not be mine.
Michael stepped away.
I looked at him.
“Michael.”
“Don’t.”
“We don’t know if it’s real.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Is anything real anymore?”
I had no answer.
Then Lily spoke through the phone.
“There’s a second page.”
“What?”
“I didn’t send it because I didn’t understand it.”
“Send it.”
Another photograph arrived.
Michael opened it.
The second page contained collection details.
Sample A: MICHAEL REYNOLDS.
Sample B: DAVID MILLER.
Date collected: eighteen years ago.
I frowned.
“Eighteen years ago?”
Michael looked at me.
“I never gave a DNA sample eighteen years ago.”
“Neither did I.”
Lily went quiet.
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
“Then whose samples were tested?”
I looked carefully at the document.
There was a signature confirming the identity of Sample B.
David Miller.
Again.
Not my handwriting.
Michael suddenly said:
“Look at the clinic.”
“What about it?”
“The address.”
I read it.
Then my stomach dropped.
The clinic had been located three blocks from Carol’s old doctor.
Michael looked at me.
“She arranged it.”
“Maybe.”
“No. She did.”
He began pacing.
“She had access to your personal things.”
“Yes.”
“To hair?”
“Yes.”
“To razors?”
“Yes.”
“To anything with your DNA?”
“Yes.”
Michael stopped.
“But that still doesn’t explain my sample.”
Then Lily interrupted.
“There’s something else Carol gave me.”
Michael turned toward the phone.
“What?”
“A lock of hair.”
We both froze.
“She said it belonged to you when you were younger.”
Michael looked horrified.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“And the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t throw anything away.”
Lily’s voice softened slightly.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Michael took a deep breath.
“Lily, I want to meet you.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
He closed his eyes.
“I understand.”
“I’m not ready.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know who to believe.”
“I understand that too.”
For the first time, Lily’s voice cracked.
“Why did nobody tell me the truth?”
Michael looked broken.
“Because people were afraid.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
Silence.
Then Lily whispered:
“I spent my whole life thinking my father paid my mother to disappear.”
Michael swallowed.
“I know.”
“I hated you.”
“I know.”
“I told people I didn’t care.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“But I did.”
Michael covered his mouth.
Lily began crying.
“I used to imagine you seeing me somewhere and recognizing me.”
Michael turned away.
His shoulders shook.
“I would have recognized you.”
“You don’t even know what I look like.”
“I don’t care.”
His voice broke.
“You’re my daughter.”
There was silence.
Then Lily said:
“You don’t know that.”
Michael froze.
“What?”
“If the DNA report about David is fake, how do we know anything else is real?”
That question hit all of us.
Because she was right.
We had been relying on documents created by someone who had forged documents before.
We needed facts.
Real facts.
Not letters.
Not memories.
Not Carol’s versions.
Michael looked at me.
“We do a real test.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Me and you.”
“Yes.”
“And Lily.”
There was silence on the phone.
Michael spoke gently.
“Only if you want to.”
Lily took a long breath.
“Fine.”
Michael’s eyes widened.
“You will?”
“One test.”
“Yes.”
“Then I decide what happens next.”
“Anything you want.”
She gave us an address for a clinic halfway between her city and ours.
We arranged to meet the following morning.
When the call ended, Michael stared at the dark phone screen.
“I have a daughter.”
I nodded.
“I think so.”
He looked at me sharply.
I corrected myself.
“You have a daughter.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then he looked back at the DNA report.
“And maybe you’re not my father.”
I felt a strange pain in my chest.
“Maybe.”
Michael studied my face.
“You’re taking that pretty well.”
“No, I’m not.”
I sat down.
“I found out you existed yesterday.”
He said nothing.
“I missed thirty-eight years.”
My voice cracked.
“And now you think I’m going to let one piece of paper decide whether I care about you?”
Michael stared at me.
“If the test says I’m not your son—”
“I don’t care.”
He froze.
I continued.
“I want the truth.”
“But whatever that truth is, you’re already part of my life.”
Michael looked down.
For the first time, I saw him fighting tears without anger.
Then he whispered:
“You sound like a father.”
Those five words destroyed me.
I turned away and wiped my eyes.
The next morning, we reached the clinic before Lily.
Michael barely spoke.
Neither did I.
At 10:07, the front door opened.
A young woman walked in.
Michael stood immediately.
I knew who she was before she said a word.
She had Michael’s eyes.
Anna’s chin.
And when she looked at me, something in her expression reminded me painfully of the young Michael in Carol’s photographs.
Lily stopped several feet away.
Michael whispered:
“Hi.”
Lily folded her arms.
“Hi.”
He looked like he wanted to hug her.
He didn’t.
Good.
She wasn’t ready.
Neither of them were.
The nurse brought us into a private room.
Cheek swabs were collected.
Mine.
Michael’s.
Lily’s.
The clinic promised expedited results.
Then Lily reached into her bag.
She pulled out another envelope.
“Carol sent this with the DNA report.”
Michael looked at it.
“What is it?”
“I didn’t open it.”
“Why?”
“Because the front says only David can.”
She handed it to me.
My name was written across it.
Below that:
OPEN ONLY AFTER MICHAEL TAKES A REAL DNA TEST.
My hands went cold.
Michael whispered:
“She knew.”
I stared at the envelope.
Carol had known someone would eventually question the old report.
She had known we would test again.
I opened it.
Inside was a single letter.
David,
By now, you have probably learned that the DNA report was manipulated.
I looked at Michael.
His eyes widened.
I kept reading.
You are Michael’s biological father.
The old test was not performed using your DNA.
Michael exhaled sharply.
My knees nearly weakened with relief.
But the next sentence stopped me.
The sample labeled “David Miller” belonged to someone else.
Michael leaned over my shoulder.
“Who?”
I continued.
I used your brother’s DNA.
The room went silent.
Michael stared at me.
“My brother?”
I had only one brother.
Robert.
Older than me by three years.
He had died twelve years ago.
I read on.
I convinced Robert to give me a sample by telling him it was for a hereditary medical screening.
He never knew the real reason.
Michael whispered:
“Why would she do that?”
The letter answered.
Because I needed a report that could create doubt later if the truth ever came out.
I felt sick.
Carol had planted confusion years in advance.
A backup lie.
A second wall behind the first.
But then I reached the next paragraph.
And everything changed again.
David, there is something about Robert that I never told you.
I stopped reading.
Michael looked at me.
“What?”
My hands began shaking.
I forced myself to continue.
Three months before Michael was born, Robert came to see me.
He knew about Anna.
He knew she was pregnant.
And he offered me money to make sure you never found out.
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Michael grabbed the letter.
He read the sentence himself.
Then looked at me.
“Why would your brother care?”
I couldn’t answer.
There was one final paragraph.
Because Robert believed Michael might be his son.
The room became completely still.
Michael slowly lowered the paper.
I felt the blood leave my face.
“No.”
He stared at me.
“No.”
Lily looked between us.
“Who is Robert?”
I could barely speak.
“My brother.”
Michael whispered:
“You said he was dead.”
“He is.”
I took the letter back.
At the bottom, Carol had written one final line:
The real answer is in Anna’s diary.
Michael looked at me.
“Did Anna ever mention Robert?”
I searched my memory.
College.
Parties.
Visits home.
Robert had visited me several times.
And then I remembered something I had not thought about in nearly forty years.
One summer night.
Anna crying.
Robert leaving her apartment.
I had asked what happened.
She told me they had argued.
I believed her.
Now my hands started trembling.
Michael saw my face.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“There’s something I never told you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“I think Anna knew my brother better than she ever admitted.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
