Accidentally Adopting My Husband's Secret Daughter

"Take a look at this, Mrs. Gallagher."

Mr. Harrison pushed the thick, laminated genetics chart across the metal desk.

Elena stared at the paper. "What am I looking at?"

"Maya's blood type project," the biology teacher said. He tapped a blunt fingernail against a red circle in the center of the page. "She did a prick test in class yesterday. The results came back as AB."

Elena frowned. "AB. Okay. Is that a bad grade?"

"It's not a grade," Harrison replied. "It's her blood type."

"I know what a blood type is, Mr. Harrison. I don't understand why you called me in for a parent-teacher conference over it. Maya is five. She's in kindergarten. Why are you doing genetics?"

"It's an advanced science module for the gifted students," Harrison explained. "We keep it very basic. Dominant and recessive traits. Eye color, hair color, and a simple blood typing kit. Maya was very excited to participate."

"She loves science," Elena agreed. "So what is the problem?"

"The problem lies in the pedigree section," he said. He pointed to the top right corner of the chart. "She wrote down her biological parents' information here. She listed her biological father, David, as Type O. And her biological mother, Sarah, as Type O."

Elena nodded slowly. "That's correct. They both passed away five years ago. My husband and I took Maya in."

"Two Type O parents cannot produce a Type AB child," Harrison stated flatly.

The fluorescent lights above hummed a low, irritating tune.

"What do you mean?" Elena asked.

"It is genetically impossible," Harrison said. "Type O means the absence of A and B antigens. An AB child must inherit an A allele from one parent and a B allele from the other."

Elena pressed her index finger against the paper. The red ink of the 'AB' seemed to blur under her touch. "You're saying the test kit was flawed."

"I'm saying the test is highly accurate. We ran it twice because Maya was upset her results didn't match the examples on the board."

"Then Maya made a mistake writing down her parents' types."

"Did she?" Harrison crossed his arms. "Maya brought in a copy of her father's military records for show-and-tell last month. I saw the dog tags. They clearly stated O-Positive."

Elena's throat tightened. "And the mother?"

"Maya said your husband told her Sarah was a universal donor. That means Type O."

"Kids misunderstand things all the time. Mark probably just simplified it for her."

"Mrs. Gallagher, I teach science. I deal in facts. The fact is, the man and woman Maya believes are her parents do not share her blood."

Elena stood up. The metal chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor. "My husband would not lie to our daughter."

"I am not accusing anyone of anything," Harrison said, his tone softening slightly. "But as an educator, I felt you should know. Maya is confused. She asked me why her chart didn't match the textbook. She thought she did the assignment wrong."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her human biology can be complicated, and we would discuss it with you."

Elena grabbed the edge of the desk. Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears. "I need to use the restroom."

"Down the hall. Last door on the left."

"I'll be right back."

Elena snatched the laminated paper from the desk and pushed through the heavy wooden door of the girls' restroom. The smell of harsh floor cleaner stung her nose. She walked straight to the sinks and gripped the cold porcelain edge.

Her reflection in the mirror looked pale. Drawn.

She pulled her phone from her purse. Her thumb swiped across the screen, opening her photo gallery. She scrolled back. Months. Years.

Five years ago.

The funeral.

She tapped on a picture of the memorial wreath. David's portrait stood in the center, flanked by American flags. Below his smiling face rested his silver dog tags.

She zoomed in on the metal plates.

*O POS.*

"It's right there," she whispered to the empty room.

David was Type O.

Maya was AB.

David was not Maya's father.

Her stomach dropped. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her shoes.

If David wasn't the father, whose baby did Mark bring home?

"He's all I have left of him, El," Mark had sobbed in their kitchen five years ago, holding the tiny infant wrapped in a pink blanket. "David's gone. Sarah died in childbirth. We have to take her. We have to raise Maya."

Elena had agreed instantly. She had given up her own career, her own plans, to raise this orphaned child. To support her grieving husband. She had spent countless nights rocking Maya to sleep, entirely convinced she was honoring a dead hero's legacy.

She locked her phone screen. The black glass reflected her wide, terrified eyes.

Mark lied.

He fabricated the entire story.

Who was Sarah? Was there even a Sarah?

Another memory surfaced. Mark sitting on the edge of Maya's bed just last night.

"You have your daddy's brave heart," Mark had murmured, brushing a stray hair from Maya's forehead. "My brother David is watching over you from heaven."

The immense, overwhelming maternal love she had felt for Maya over the past five years suddenly twisted. It mutated into a thick, rising nausea.

Every bedtime story. Every tear Mark shed on the anniversary of David's death. Every late-night bottle she had warmed.

All of it crawled with the ugly, jagged veins of deceit.

She remembered the whispers at the grocery store. Neighbors marveling at how much Maya looked like Mark.

"She has his nose," Mrs. Gable had said once.

Mark had laughed it off. "Just a coincidence. David and I looked a lot alike back in the day."

It wasn't a coincidence.

She squeezed the sink. Her knuckles popped. The skin around her fingernails turned completely white.

A violent gag tore out of her throat.

She bent over the basin, coughing hard. A bitter taste burned the back of her mouth. She forced the dry heave down, swallowing repeatedly until the urge to vomit subsided.

He brought another woman's baby into their home.

Whose baby?

*His?*

Mark was Type A. If he slept with a woman who was Type B... that would make AB.

"Oh my god," Elena gasped.

She turned the cold water tap. It sputtered, then rushed out in a clear stream. She cupped her trembling hands, caught the freezing water, and splashed it directly into her face.

The shock of the cold grounded her.

She grabbed a rough paper towel and dragged it across her wet cheeks.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the laminated genetics chart she had taken from the classroom.

The bright red 'AB' mocked her.

She folded the paper in half. It resisted. She pressed the crease hard, folding it again and again until it was a small, sharp square.

She shoved the stiff paper deep into the pocket of her wool coat.

She needed to confront him. She needed the truth.

A sharp buzz vibrated against the porcelain counter.

Elena flinched.

Her phone screen lit up.

A new text message from Mark.

She stared at the notification banner.

*Mark: Bring our daughter home early tonight. Bought her favorite strawberry cake.*