I wrote his initials.
And then I mailed them.
***
The results came the following Tuesday.
“I’m not snooping.”
Greg was in the shower. I opened the email like it was a bomb about to go off.
And it did.
I stared at the “0% DNA Shared” line for so long, I forgot how to blink.
But it wasn’t the absence of the match that shook me.
It was the presence of one.
Mike. Tiffany’s godfather. Greg’s best friend since college. He was a man who had keys to my house.
It wasn’t the absence of the match that shook me.
I shut my laptop. My legs moved before my thoughts did. I walked into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, numb, staring at the tiled floor.
I sat there until the water stopped and the curtain scraped open.
