"Isla." Kieran's voice is tight. "You need to see this."
He turns his phone toward me, showing a genealogy website pulled up to the Gray family tree. I follow the lines down from Marcus and Elizabeth, through their daughter Evelyn, to Evelyn's son Marcus Gray Junior—my father—and his wife Catherine.
And there, at the bottom of the tree, listed as Marcus Junior's children: a son named Robert, born 1998, and a daughter named Isla, born 1999.
But there's a notation next to my name, one that makes my blood run cold.
Isla Gray - Adopted 1999. Biological parents unknown.
The library spins. I grab the edge of the table to steady myself.
"That's not possible." My voice doesn't sound like my own. "I'm not adopted. I look exactly like my mother. Everyone always said—"
"Isla, sit down." Kieran
