from might be wrong.”
I opened the papers.
There was a hospital name I recognized immediately.
The same hospital where, five years earlier, I’d given birth to a little girl who doctors told me hadn’t survived.
Then I saw a preliminary DNA report.
My name appeared beside Ellie’s.
And underneath was a conclusion that made my knees weaken.
The results indicated a biological mother-daughter relationship.
I looked at my sister in disbelief.
She began crying harder.
“Claire… I think the little girl I adopted might actually be Lucy.”
Lucy.
My