I went through her photos one by one.
There were photos of her at what looked like a college graduation, wearing a cap and gown with that same dimpled smile. Photos of her hiking with friends, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. A selfie in a cafe where she was wearing glasses almost identical to the ones on my nightstand right now.
The resemblance became more striking with each photo. It wasn’t just the face. It was the expressions, the way she stood, even the way she tilted her head in the photos.
“How is that possible?” I whispered to Biscuit.
Announcements
I read her messages. She had been searching for months, sharing her story in adoption groups and genealogy forums. She had taken a DNA test but hadn’t found any close matches. She knew she was adopted, that her birth mother was from Iowa, and that was it. The trail ended there.
My mind raced through all the possibilities, each more impossible than the last. Could she be my daughter somehow? No, that was medically impossible. Could we be cousins? Perhaps, but I’d never heard of a family member giving a baby up for adoption.
I looked at his face again and a shiver ran down my spine.
