Sheila froze.
A paternity test? Timothy was doing a paternity test?
But for whom?
Surely not for Henry. Anyone with eyes could see the resemblance—Henry looked so much like Timothy that no test was needed to prove they were father and son.
So who was it for?
Her mind was spinning with questions as she carried a plate of fruit into the living room.
Timothy had just finished his cigarette. He maneuvered his electric wheelchair through the doorway.
“Dad, Mom, have some fruit,” he said, rolling up to the dining table.
Sheila glanced at him. He was distracted, eyes glued to his phone, a flicker of excitement playing across his face.
She called out, “Timothy, come have some fruit!”
“I’ll pass. I need to head out,” he replied, already motioning for the housekeeper to call the driver.
After sharing some fruit with Timothy’s parents, Sheila made her own excuse about work and slipped out.
That text message—she remembered the hospital’s name was in the header.
Sheila drove straight there, making her way to the genetics center. Timothy, being in a wheelchair, would move a little slower, so she figured she wouldn’t be far behind. Sure enough, as she entered the center, she saw Timothy at the reception, receiving a sealed envelope.
He tore it open in a hurry, his hands trembling.
A tight, unreadable look crossed Timothy’s face as he stared at the results. He was completely stunned.
Jessica and Vince were siblings?
But they were only a year apart—how was that possible?
Jessica had never mentioned not being her parents’ biological child. If she weren’t, surely she would’ve known. It was impossible to believe.
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