I slid the three papers across the table one at a time: my DNA report, my birth certificate with the blank father line, and Nana Edith’s letter. Then I read the letter aloud, every cold word of it. Carol covered her mouth. Marjorie, still pale from the wedding, whispered Raymond’s name. Nana Edith stared at the pot roast and did not blink. Nobody touched the cobbler.

“Rosalind,” Carol said, her voice cracking, “please let me explain.” I held up my hand. Before I could answer, the front door opened and boots crossed the hallway. A young woman stood in the doorway with a red folder against her chest, her jaw and dimple exactly like mine. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I’m Hailey Brooks. I got your message, Rosalind. I think we share a father.”