PART 2 — I Looked at My Niece’s Back and Finally Understood Why My Brother Wanted to Give Her Away
I slowly turned the baby toward the light.
At first, I didn’t understand what Ryan was looking at.
Then I saw it.
A small, dark birthmark sat just beneath her left shoulder blade.
It wasn’t ordinary.
It was shaped almost perfectly like a tiny crescent moon.
Melissa covered her mouth.
Ryan stepped backward.
“No,” he whispered.
I looked at him.
“Ryan, what does that mean?”
He couldn’t answer.
His eyes were fixed on the baby.
Then Melissa suddenly started shaking.
“That mark…”
She looked at Ryan.
“You said nobody else knew about it.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
Ryan finally sat down.
His hands were trembling.
“That mark belonged to our mother.”
I froze.
Our mother had d.i.e.d nineteen years earlier.
But I remembered the mark.
A crescent-shaped birthmark on her back.
She used to joke that it was a piece of the moon she’d carried with her.
I looked down at the newborn again.
“How could she have it?”
Ryan didn’t answer.
Instead, Melissa pulled out her phone.
She showed me an old photograph.
It was our mother standing beside us when we were children.
The picture had been taken shortly before she d.i.e.d.
The birthmark was clearly visible.
Same shape.
Same location.
Same strange curve.
My heart started racing.
“That’s impossible.”
Ryan shook his head.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then he finally told me the truth.
Before our mother d.i.e.d, she had revealed something to Ryan that she’d never told me.
She had been adopted.
And somewhere in her original family history was a medical condition that had affected several generations.
Ryan had spent months researching it after Melissa became pregnant.
He discovered that the condition could sometimes appear in children through a very specific genetic pattern.
But that wasn’t what terrified him.
The doctors had noticed something during the baby’s examination.
A tiny abnormality.
They wanted additional testing.
Ryan had panicked.
He thought the baby had inherited something dangerous.
“That’s why you won’t take her home?” I asked.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“I was scared.”
“You promised her a home.”
“I know.”
“You bought her clothes.”
“I know.”
“You built her a nursery.”
“I know!”
His voice cracked.
Then he whispered:
“I was afraid I’d bring her home and watch her suffer the way I watched Mom suffer.”
The room became silent.
Melissa walked toward him.
“You weren’t protecting her.”
Ryan looked up.
“You were abandoning her because you were scared.”
He began crying.
But there was still something that didn’t make sense.
I turned toward the doctor.
“Does the baby actually have this condition?”
The doctor hesitated.
“We don’t know yet.”
Ryan looked stunned.
“What?”
“The birthmark alone doesn’t tell us anything,” the doctor explained. “Neither does the preliminary examination. We need genetic testing before anyone can make assumptions.”
Ryan lowered his head.
He had nearly given up his daughter because of something that hadn’t even been confirmed.
Then the doctor added something that made all three of us go silent.
“There is another issue.”
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“The genetic pattern you’re describing doesn’t actually match the baby’s biological history.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She glanced at the medical chart.
“Based on the records, this child shouldn’t have inherited that particular mutation from Ryan.”
I looked at my brother.
Ryan looked at Melissa.
And suddenly, a terrible possibility entered the room.
“What are you saying?” Melissa whispered.
The doctor took a breath.
“We may have a mix-up.”
Everyone froze.
“The embryo identification needs to be verified.”
Melissa’s face went white.
Ryan stood up.
“You mean…”
The doctor nodded.
“We need to determine whether this is actually the embryo you intended to transfer.”
My knees nearly gave out.
The baby in my arms might not be the child Ryan and Melissa had believed they were expecting.
And if the hospital had made an error…
someone else’s baby could be lying in my arms.
But before anyone could say another word, a nurse rushed into the room holding a file.
She looked terrified.
“Doctor, you need to see this immediately.”
The doctor opened the file.
Her expression changed.
Then she looked directly at Ryan.
“Your sister’s DNA was used in the original fertility paperwork.”
I stared at her.
“My DNA?”
The room went completely silent.
Because suddenly, the question wasn’t just whose baby was this?
It was why had my DNA been entered into the fertility records in the first place?
And when the hospital administrator arrived ten minutes later, he told us something that made Ryan’s face go completely pale.
Someone had deliberately changed the embryo records.
And they knew exactly who I was.
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