DOMINIC
Despite my anger, that was the last thing I wanted to hear her say.
Her voice wavered, her body trembled. I saw the tears she was struggling to hold back, the way she sniffed hard and forced them down. And then that smile—sad and strained—formed on her face, twisting something profound inside me.
"That's not possible," I said.
"Well, it's a good thing we're finally thinking alike," she muttered, sarcasm lacing her voice. I ignored it. "The doctor said it's not a mistake. He suggested a DNA test."
DNA?
My frown deepened. It made no sense.
"Do you know what I did?" she asked suddenly, facing me for the first time. I hadn't asked, but she answered anyway.
"I told them no DNA." She shrugged like it meant nothing.
"No. No," I said, shaking my head.
"What?" she snapped, her irritation sharp.
"You can't just say no to DNA. It doesn't work that way. If the doctor is saying something's wrong, there has to be—"
