A DNA test flipped my life upside down. I stared at the results, trying to make sense of what I saw. My mind screamed that it had to be a mistake, but deep down, I knew life would never be the same again.
I’m Billy, and up until a few days ago, I thought I was living the dream. As an only child, my parents showered me with love and attention. They made sure I had everything I could ever want. Just last week, Dad surprised me with the latest gaming console, and it wasn’t even my birthday.
“What’s this for?” I asked, my eyes lighting up with excitement.
Dad grinned, ruffling my hair. “Do I need a reason to spoil my favorite son?”
“Your only son, you mean,” Mom said with a laugh.
“All the more reason to spoil him!” Dad replied with a chuckle.
It had always been the three of us, living a picture-perfect life. But everything changed the day I opened those DNA results.
It all began when I turned 18. I was curious about those ancestry DNA kits that claimed they could tell you if you were part Viking or royalty. It seemed fun and harmless. Little did I know, that simple test would unravel my world.
The day the results arrived, I was practically bouncing with excitement. I kept refreshing my email until the notification finally appeared. “Mom! My results are here!” I shouted, racing to my computer.
I clicked open the report, my heart pounding. But instead of finding out I was 10% Viking or descended from kings, I found something far more shocking: a close match labeled as a brother—Daniel.
A brother? That couldn’t be right. I’ve always been an only child. Confused, I called the DNA company’s customer service line.
“Our results are 100% accurate,” the representative assured me. “We double-check everything before sending it out.”
I hung up, my mind spinning. How could I have a brother I didn’t know about? I needed answers, and I knew who to ask.
That evening, I waited for Dad to get home from work. As soon as I heard his car pull into the driveway, I hurried to the living room.
“Hey, Dad? Can we talk?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Of course, kiddo,” he said, giving me his usual warm smile. “What’s on your mind?”
I hesitated, then blurted out, “Do you know someone named Daniel? He showed up as my brother on the DNA test.”
Dad’s face turned pale. His smile vanished, replaced by a look of panic. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked quietly.
I explained about the test. Dad closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finally, he said, “Billy, listen to me. Don’t tell your mom about this. She doesn’t know. Years ago, I made a mistake. I had an affair, and Daniel… he’s from that relationship. If your mom finds out, it will destroy our family.”
I nodded, though my mind was reeling. Something about his explanation didn’t feel right. That night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was full of questions, and I knew there was only one way to get answers: I had to talk to Daniel.
I reached out to him through the DNA site’s messaging system. To my surprise, he replied almost immediately.
Daniel: Billy? Is it really you? I can’t believe this!
We exchanged messages and arranged to meet at a nearby café the next day. I didn’t tell my parents. I wasn’t ready for another confrontation.
When I arrived at the café, it felt like I was looking into a mirror. Daniel and I had the same eyes, the same smile. “Billy?” he asked, standing up to greet me.
I nodded, my nerves a jumble. We sat down, and Daniel wasted no time diving into his memories.
“Do you remember the lake near our old house?” he asked, smiling. “We used to play there all the time.”
I blinked, confused. “What are you talking about? We never lived together.”
His smile faded. “What do you mean? We lived together until we were five. Don’t you remember the fire? The one that took our parents?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Fire? My dad said you were from an affair.”
Daniel’s expression darkened. “An affair? Billy, you were adopted. After the fire, we were separated. You went to a different family. I was sent to foster care. I remember everything.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe it. “No. That’s not possible.”
“It’s the truth,” Daniel said firmly. “I don’t know why your parents never told you.”
Confused and angry, I left the café. My mind raced with doubts and questions. Determined to uncover the truth, I snuck into my dad’s office the next day while my parents were out. After rummaging through old files, I found the evidence: records of a fire at an apartment building. The same fire Daniel had described.
My hands shook as I read through the lawsuit details. The fire had been caused by faulty wiring in the building—a building owned by my adoptive parents. They had ignored complaints about the electrical issues to save money, and their negligence had led to the tragedy that killed my biological parents.
Tears streamed down my face as the truth hit me. My parents hadn’t adopted me out of love. They had done it to avoid a lawsuit.
That evening, I confronted them. “Why didn’t you tell me I was adopted?” I demanded, holding up the documents. “Why did you lie?”
Dad tried to stammer out an excuse, but the truth was clear. “We didn’t want to hurt you,” he said weakly.
I couldn’t stay in that house another moment. I packed my belongings and called Daniel, asking if I could stay with him. He welcomed me with open arms.
“They stole you from me,” Daniel said over dinner that night. “From us.”
His words were painful, but they also brought comfort. For the first time, I felt like I had found someone who truly understood me. My world had been turned upside down, but in the chaos, I gained something precious: a brother. And for that, I was grateful.
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