chapter 1 of 4
“What do you know about DNA testing?” I asked Eric, a young man in his early thirties, my voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspense.
“Nothing,” he replied hesitantly, his words laced with uncertainty.
I could feel the tension in the room, a heavy silence that begged to be broken.
I paused, allowing Eric a moment to catch his breath.
It was clear that the situation made him uncomfortable, his embarrassment palpable.
His restless hands shifted from his pockets to under his thighs, as if they were trying to hide something about him.
Eric squirmed in the wooden chair, despite my efforts to make it more comfortable with soft cushions. His shoulders slumped, and he avoided making eye contact.
His gaze seemed fixated on the floor, circling my chair, as if searching for answers hidden there.
“So, how did you find me?” I asked cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.
“A friend,” he replied quietly, his voice barely audible. “He didn’t explain much, just said I should talk to you.”
I nodded, attempting to put him at ease. “Okay, Eric, can you tell me a little about yourself and what you’re looking for?” I probed gently.
He hesitated before finally speaking. “Do you mind if I light a cigarette?” he asked.
“Please do,” I replied, reaching for a cigarette myself.
The act was partly to make him feel more comfortable, but I couldn’t deny that I needed one too.
We sat in silence, the smoke swirling around us, acting as a protective screen.
I hoped it would encourage him to open up, to reveal the mystery that had brought him to my doorstep.
Another tense minute passed before he spoke again. “I’m adopted,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his revelation.
I couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over me. I had braced myself for something far more shocking, given the palpable tension in the room. After years of working with DNA and hearing incredible stories every week, it was hard to surprise me. I’d learned that in the world of DNA, anything was possible.
“So, you’re looking for your biological parents,” I stated the obvious.
“Yes,” he replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on the ground.
There was something enigmatic and elusive about his demeanor.
Over the years, I’d met numerous adoptees in that very chair.
Their visits were usually filled with excitement and anticipation.
Most of them had no trouble admitting they were adopted. I often reminded them that they were not defined by their adoption; it was an event in their past, not their identity.
I launched into my standard opening lecture, discussing the uncertainties of DNA testing and how results depended on the database.
Eric listened quietly, his eyes finally meeting mine. In that moment, his eyes resembled still ponds, and I thought I saw a tear glistening in the corner.
I paused, leaning forward slightly, my gaze unwavering.
“Eric, what’s on your mind? Talk to me.”
His composure shattered, and he broke into tears.
Behind those tears, I could hear him whisper, “I didn’t tell my parents I was coming here. They know nothing.”
His voice trembled with shame and fear, and the room seemed to close in on us, concealing the secrets that had yet to be unraveled.
