On a wet Thursday afternoon weeks later, the email said, “Your DNA results are ready.”
I sprang off the sofa and grabbed my laptop. As I clicked the link, my heart raced. Heritage was intriguing. German, Irish, and unexpectedly Mediterranean. I was halted by the “Relatives” section.
Sibling: Close familial match. Name: Noah R.”
I blinked. Page refreshed. Internet browser closed and reopened.
Sibling?
It couldn’t be. Being the lone kid. Everyone knew. Looked at the name again.
Noah?
I contacted the DNA business with trembling fingers.
“Hi, I think there’s a mistake in my results,” I mumbled.
“Hi Alex,” perky salesperson said. “We double-check results. What’s wrong?
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