My body went cold.
My dad didn’t speak. He just stood there beside me, shoulders tense, jaw locked so hard I could see the muscle twitch.
I didn’t hug her. Didn’t smile. Didn’t ask why she was here.
I just said, “What do you want?”
Her expression flickered, but only for a second. Then she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a large manila envelope.
“This is for you,” she said. “It’s a surprise.”
There are moments when your instincts scream before your brain catches up. That was one of them. My stomach dropped so hard it almost felt like a physical blow.
I took the envelope anyway.
Inside was a DNA test.
My hands started shaking before I even finished reading the first page.
“It proves this man,” she said, pointing casually toward my father as if he were a stranger, “is not your biological father.”
The world narrowed.
The sounds of the street disappeared. The birds. The traffic. Even my own breathing. All I could hear was the pounding in my ears.
I looked at my dad.
He looked like someone had drained the blood from his face.
“You knew?” I asked, but my voice barely came out.
He swallowed hard. “I found out when you were a baby,” he said quietly. “She told me before she left.”
I stared at him.
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