The result was so strong that the system initially flagged me as the mother.
But the full analysis showed something else.
Lucy shared half of her maternal genetic markers with me.
She was my granddaughter.
Not my daughter.
The report had been misinterpreted because of an administrative error.
I almost laughed through my tears.
“So I’m not 51 and secretly giving birth.”
The doctor smiled sadly.
“No.”
For the first time that night, I laughed.
Then the pounding started again.
This time it wasn’t on the door.
It was coming from the hallway.
A nurse ran into the room.
“There’s someone outside asking for Anna.”
Eleanor’s face changed.
“Who?”
The nurse looked nervous.
“Anna’s husband.”
I froze.
Anna had been married.
I hadn’t known.
A man stood in the hallway, pale and shaking.
He was barely thirty.
When he saw Lucy in my arms, he stopped.
Then he looked at Michael.
