Clara’s heart clenched. She had taken blood samples from countless patients, inserted IV lines into skin pale with illness, but this—this felt like betrayal. She steadied her hands and took the swab, brushing it gently along the inside of her daughter’s cheek. Emily giggled at the tickle, but Clara’s throat burned with every second.
When it was over, she sealed the sample and placed it into the return envelope. Her fingers lingered there, unwilling to let go. It wasn’t just a piece of cotton—it was her daughter’s life, her past, a key to a door Clara had spent eighteen years keeping shut.