"He was lucid when he said it," she insisted. And she needed it to be true. Her husband, the love of her life, was dying, and she needed my claims to be false. I couldn't be his daughter, because if I was, then the man she knew had already died long ago. But if I wasn't his daughter, then I was alone, unknown. So, as much as I didn't want to pain this woman, I couldn't accept her truth. Not without proof, anyway.
"The DNA results will be in soon," the lawyer reminded her, reading my mind.
She glared at him with tears in her eyes. Then she fixed that angry, mournful gaze upon me, and I knew for the first time in my life what it felt like to be loathed.
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