“She's not your daughter."
Thomas stared at the test results, hands trembling. His desk, once a monument to order—pen precisely aligned with calendar, frames at equal angles—now lay in disarray. The envelope from the lab rested open, DNA reports fanned out like damning confetti.
Helena clutched the edge of the desk. “There must be a mistake."
The doctor shook his head. “We ran it twice. There's no genetic match between you and Sarah."
Her voice cracked. “But Lucy?"
He nodded. “Lucy Warren is your biological daughter."
Helena's knees buckled. Thomas caught her before she collapsed.
“No," she whispered. “This can't be. This can't be."
But it was.
Raymond stood at the doorway, arms folded, face expressionless. “We need to contact the hospital. Get the records. Find out how this happe
