Her birth mother had left her at the hospital the day she was born.
She was the same age my daughter would have been. I gave everything to be good to her. I wanted to give Susan all the love I hadn't been able to give for 15 years.
I thought I understood why. I didn't know how right I was.
Susan came home a week ago with a DNA test kit from a biology project. She put it on the kitchen table at dinner with that particular teenage energy.
“It's not like I feel any less loved, and I know we're not related. But this is going to be fun, guys!” she said, smiling at me and then at Chris. “And maybe it'll help me find my real parents someday. The teacher said this one gives results really fast, so we won't even have to wait a week.”
“Maybe it'll help me find my real parents someday.”
She said it casually, the way she had learned to talk about her adoption.
“Of course, darling,” I replied, and I told myself it was nothing.
Chris thought it was funny. He talked about his ancestors and joked about being descended from royalty, while Susan rolled her eyes and I laughed along with them.
We mailed the samples and forgot about them.
The results had been sent directly to Susan, and I hadn't seen them yet. The day they arrived, something was wrong with her.
