She said it casually, the way she’d learned to talk about her adoption.

“Sure, honey,” I said, and I told myself it was nothing.

Chris thought it was fun. He talked about his ancestry and made jokes about being descended from royalty, while Susan rolled her eyes, and I laughed along with them.

We mailed the samples off and forgot about them.

The results had been mailed directly to Susan, and I hadn’t seen them yet. The day they arrived, something was wrong with her.

She ate dinner without saying much. She kept her eyes on her plate whenever I looked her way. Then she asked Chris if they could talk. Just the two of them.

Something was wrong with her.

I stayed in the kitchen and listened to the door close down the hall, followed by the low murmur of voices and then, clearly and unmistakably, Susan crying.

I didn’t understand what was going on.

Chris came out 20 minutes later holding a folded paper.

“Read this,” he said. He set the paper down in front of me. “The result is interesting. You’ll find it very interesting.”

I didn’t understand what was going on.

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