“Claire, there’s something you need to know about Ellie,” she whispered.
My stomach dropped.
Ellie was the five-year-old girl my sister and her husband had adopted just two weeks earlier, after eight heartbreaking years of trying to become parents.
“Is she hurt?” I demanded.
“No. She’s safe.”
“Then what’s happened?”
My sister pushed the envelope into my hands.
“The adoption agency uncovered something about her past. Everything they told us about where she came from might be wrong.”
I opened the papers.
There was a hospital name I recognized immediately.
The same hospital where, five years earlier, I’d given birth to a little girl who doctors told me hadn’t survived.
Then I saw a preliminary DNA report.
My name appeared beside Ellie’s.
And underneath was a conclusion that made my knees weaken.
**The results indicated a biological mother-daughter relationship.**
I looked at my sister in disbelief.
