A DNA test was all it took to shatter the illusion I had called my life. As I stared at the screen, trying to process the results, my mind insisted it had to be an error. But deep down, my heart already knew the truth—things would never be the same.
I’m Billy, and up until recently, I believed I was living the dream. I was an only child, and my parents had always showered me with love and attention. My dad would surprise me with gifts for no reason, like the new gaming console he bought me just last week.
“What’s this for?” I asked, wide-eyed with excitement.
Dad smiled and shrugged. “Do I need a reason to spoil my favorite son?”
“Your only son, you mean,” my mom chimed in with a grin.
“All the more reason to spoil him!” Dad laughed, ruffling my hair.
It had always been just the three of us, living what I thought was the perfect life. But everything changed after I turned 18.
For my birthday, I decided to treat myself to one of those ancestry DNA tests, just for fun. I was curious about my heritage, eager to see if I had some unexpected lineage—like a distant Viking ancestor or something. It seemed harmless at the time.
I was practically bouncing off the walls when the results finally came in. I opened the email eagerly, ready to dive into the details of my ancestry. But as I scanned the results, my heart stopped. There, on the screen, was a notification of a close match. Not a distant cousin or relative. A brother. His name was Daniel.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and stared at the screen again. This had to be some kind of mistake, right? I was an only child. I’d always been an only child.
Confused and a little shaken, I decided to call the company’s helpline. Maybe the results were wrong.
“Hello, how can I assist you today?” the representative asked cheerfully.
“Hi, I just received my DNA results, but I think there might be a mistake. It says I have a brother, but I’m an only child,” I explained, my voice shaky.
“I’m sorry, sir, but our tests are extremely accurate. We double-check all results before sending them out.”
“Oh… okay. Thank you,” I said weakly before hanging up.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the screen, unable to comprehend what this meant. How could I have a brother I never knew about? I needed answers, and there was only one person who might have them—Dad.
Later that night, when my dad got home from work, I rushed to confront him. My heart pounded as I cornered him in the living room.
“Dad, can we talk for a second?” I asked nervously.
He smiled, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. “Sure, kiddo. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath. “So, I got my DNA test results today, and… do you know someone named Daniel?”
I watched as my father’s face went pale. His smile vanished, and he looked away, glancing around as if checking to see if my mom was nearby.
“Where did you hear that name?” he asked, his voice low and tense.
I explained what I had discovered, hoping he could clear up the confusion. But as I talked, his expression grew darker.
“Listen,” he began after a long pause. “Don’t tell your mom about this, okay? She doesn’t know. Years ago, I had an affair, and Daniel is the result of that. If she finds out, it’ll destroy everything.”
I nodded, though the unease in my chest grew stronger. I promised not to tell Mom, but something about Dad’s explanation didn’t sit right. His reaction felt off, like there was more to the story.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The DNA results weighed heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to dig deeper. I couldn’t stop thinking about Daniel. Should I reach out to him?
I decided to text him the next day. To my surprise, Daniel responded quickly. He seemed just as eager to talk as I was. We arranged to meet at a nearby café the next day.
The following morning, I told my mom I was going out with a friend and made my way to the café. The moment I saw Daniel, I froze. It was like looking into a mirror—he looked so much like me.
“Billy?” he asked, standing up.
I nodded, and we sat down, awkward silence hanging between us. Neither of us knew what to say at first, but eventually, Daniel broke the ice.
“You remember the lake by our old house?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “We used to swing on that rusty swing set and skip rocks into the water.”
I blinked in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never lived together.”
Daniel’s smile faded. “What do you mean? We lived together until we were five or six. Don’t you remember? And Scruffy, our dog?”
My heart pounded. “My dad said you’re the child from his affair. I only found out about you a few days ago.”
Daniel looked at me, bewildered. “Wait, you think I’m the affair child? No, that’s not right. Don’t you remember the fire? The house burned down when we were little. Our parents didn’t make it.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. “Fire? What are you talking about?”
Daniel nodded, his face serious. “Yeah. After the fire, you were adopted, and I was sent to live with another family. We were separated. I couldn’t contact you because of the adoption terms.”
I sat there, stunned. Adopted? That couldn’t be true. Could it?
After our conversation ended, I rushed home, my mind spinning. I knew I needed to find out the truth. While my parents were out, I snuck into my dad’s office and rifled through old documents.
Buried in a stack of papers, I found something that confirmed everything Daniel had said. It was a lawsuit detailing the fire at an apartment building—our childhood home. The fire had been caused by faulty wiring that my adoptive parents, who owned the building, had ignored. The fire had taken my biological parents’ lives, and my adoption was a cover-up to avoid legal repercussions.
My hands trembled as I pieced it all together. My whole life had been a lie. The people I thought were my loving parents had taken me in not out of love, but to hide their guilt.
That night, I confronted them. My dad tried to explain, but I couldn’t hear it. The betrayal was too deep. I packed my things and left, unable to look at them the same way.
Daniel welcomed me into his home, and as we sat together, I realized that despite the tragedy, I had found something real—my brother, who had been waiting for me all these years.
In the midst of the pain, I felt grateful. We were together again, and that was something no lie could ever take away.
