The DNA test said Molly Sinert had a daughter. Molly stared at the screen, then read the line again. Beside the name Isabel was a match of nearly fifty percent, followed by the site’s best guess about their relationship: Daughter. “That’s impossible,” Molly said. Her husband came over and leaned toward the laptop. “Are you sure you’re reading it right?” he asked.
Molly was sure. She had never been pregnant. She had never given birth. She had never donated eggs. There was no forgotten chapter of her life that could explain an eleven-year-old girl appearing in her family tree. Her husband frowned at the percentage. “Maybe they mixed up the samples.” Molly wanted to believe that. It was the only explanation that made any sense.
She clicked on Isabel’s profile, hoping something there would solve it. Instead, she found almost nothing. The account was private. There was no family tree, no photograph she recognized, and no clue why this child shared so much of her DNA. Molly looked back at the word daughter. She knew it could not be true. Yet the number beside it was difficult to ignore. Somewhere, a girl named Isabel was connected to Molly. But how?