It was pouring when my sister Clair showed up at my door, drenched, shaking, clutching a manila envelope in one hand and her adopted daughter’s small hand in the other. Her voice cracked like the storm outside: “Bree… this child isn’t ours anymore.”
At first, I thought she was having a breakdown. But the words that followed changed our lives forever.
Clair has always been the organized, dependable sister—the planner, the caretaker, the one who had it all together. I was the messy, wandering one, drifting through jobs and relationships in my twenties.
When Clair married Wes, I thought she had the perfect life. After years of trying to have children, they turned to adoption. That’s when Eden entered our lives. Five years old, wide blue eyes, quiet and cautious, clinging to Clair’s hand. For six months, Eden brought joy like I’d never seen in my sister. Every phone call, every photo, every whispered “I love you” was proof of her happiness.
Then came that night. The rain. The envelope. Clair’s eyes full of fear. Inside the envelope: DNA test results.
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