I wasn’t looking for anything profound—just curious to see if I had some Viking blood or a connection to royalty. When the email finally arrived, I opened it with excitement.
And there it was: a notification of a close relative match. A brother. Daniel.
A brother? It had to be a mistake. I was an only child—Mom and Dad had said so my whole life.
Panicking, I called the DNA company’s helpline. The cheerful representative assured me the results were accurate. “We double-check all results before sending them out,” she said.
Her certainty left me spinning. My perfect, stable world suddenly felt like a lie.
That evening, I waited for Dad to come home. As soon as I heard his car pull into the driveway, I intercepted him in the living room.
“Hey, Dad? Can we talk?”
“Sure, kiddo. What’s up?” he asked, dropping