My Stepdaughter Took a DNA Test for Fun
At the age of 17, I gave birth to a girl and gave her up that same day. I carried the guilt of that choice with me for the next fifteen years. I later got married to a man who had an adoptive daughter. Before she voluntarily took a DNA test, I believed our connection was just coincidental.
I gave birth to her when I was 17. A female. Born at the general hospital on a Friday in February, weighing seven pounds, two ounces.
Before the nurse returned, I held her for eleven minutes. I pressed my baby’s little fingers to my chest, counted every minute, and committed her weight to memory in the same way that you do when you know you’re going to lose something.
My parents had already decided for me and were waiting outside that room.
I gave birth to her when I was 17.
They said my child was more deserving than a young, unplanned mother. that even considering retaining her was selfish on my part. I still find it difficult to repeat some of the terrible things they said.
I couldn’t fight back because I was too young, too scared, and too broken.
I left the hospital with empty hands and the knowledge that some things are irrevocable once they are done.
Soon after, I stopped communicating with my parents. However, the guilt stalked me like a shadow for fifteen years.
Eventually, life did what it always does. Whether I was ready or not, it went ahead.
A teenage mother with no money and no plan was not worthy of my child.
I regained my balance. I had a steady job, a place of my own, and a firm foundation. Then, three years ago, I got to know Chris. We got married not long ago.
When we first met, his daughter Susan was twelve years old; she is now fifteen. She was adopted as a newborn by Chris and his ex-wife. On the day of her birth, her biological mother had abandoned her at the hospital.
Every time I heard that, I was reminded of the decision I had taken years before
.
From the first afternoon I spent with Susan, I sensed a tug in her direction. I reminded myself that it was simply tenderness, the instinctive reaction of a woman who knew what it was like to grow up feeling like a question with no answer.
On the day of her birth, her biological mother had abandoned her at the hospital.
She would have been the same age as my daughter. I put everything into treating her well. I wanted to show Susan all the affection I had been unable to provide for fifteen years.
I believed I knew why. I didn’t realize how absolutely correct I was.
A week ago, Susan brought a DNA test kit from a biology class assignment home. With that special adolescent enthusiasm, she placed it on the kitchen table during dinner.I know we’re not related, but it doesn’t make me feel any less loved. “But this is going to be fun, guys!” she exclaimed, smiling first at Chris and then at me. And who knows, it might one day help me track down my biological parents. We won’t even have to wait a week because, according to the teacher, this one provides results quite quickly.”One day, it might help me locate my biological parents.
She spoke about her adoption in the informal manner she had come to know.”Yeah, honey,” I said, telling myself it was insignificant.
Chris found it enjoyable. Susan rolled her eyes and I laughed with him as he discussed his heritage and joked about being descended from royalty.
We forgot about the samples after mailing them off.
I hadn’t seen the results yet; they had been mailed straight to Susan. There was a problem with her the day they got there.
She didn’t speak much while eating dinner. Every time I glanced at her, she continued to focus on her dish. Then she asked Chris if they could have a conversation. Only the two of them.
There was a problem with her.
I remained in the kitchen and heard the door close down the hall, then the faint sound of voices, and finally, very obviously, Susan sobbing.
I had no idea what was happening.
Twenty minutes later, Chris emerged with a folded piece of paper.He said, “Read this.” He placed the paper in front of me. “The outcome is intriguing. It will pique your attention greatly.
I had no idea what was happening.
The report was one page in length. Before the sentences in the first portion came together to make sense to me, I read it again.
match between parents and children. 99.97% confidence level.
My name was in the maternal line.
I glanced up at Chris. He was observing me as I read it.He mentioned the hospital that was mentioned in Susan’s adoption papers. “On the night we discussed the baby you gave up, you made reference to it. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. I was hardly paying attention until I just now looked at the adoption file once more.
I didn’t respond. I was aware beforehand.
My name was in the maternal line.”Krystle, it’s the same hospital,” Chris concluded. “The same year. in the same month.
It seemed like twenty pounds of paper in my hands. There was silence in the room.
Susan stood in the corridor. How long the three of us stood there silently is beyond me.
Susan was the first to move. She backed into the wall as though she needed a substantial object behind her, not in my direction. Her face was performing six simultaneous actions, and I was able to identify each one as I had worn similar ones for fifteen years.Susan said, “She’s been here. “She was here the whole time.”
The length of time the three of us stood silent is unknown to me.Chris began, “Susan… baby…”No, Dad! She was present. My mom was right here.
I moved in her direction. When Susan turned to face me, a fissure sprang in her face, and she began to cry.
Before I could reach her, she jerked her hands back.”You’re not allowed to do that,” she screamed. “You abandoned me. I wasn’t what you wanted. You can no longer be my mother. Leave.”
She was in tears.
Susan bolted to the upper floor. Chris and I stood in the silence she left behind as her door banged with enough force to rattle the frame. For a long period, neither of us spoke.
My life was at its coldest in the days that followed.
At breakfast, Susan stopped looking at me. After dinner, she answered with a single word and vanished into her room.
Chris navigated the house with ease. I couldn’t get to where his thoughts were.
I knew how hurt he was, so I didn’t defend myself. I simply kept turning up.
My life was at its coldest in the days that followed.
I made Susan’s favorite lunch the next morning. The tiny pasta stars in the chicken soup. On a sick day, she requested the cinnamon toast.
I wrote, “Have a good day,” in her backpack. You have my admiration. I’m not going to give up.”
That week, I attended the fall performance at her school and took a seat in the back row. She pretended not to notice me. She didn’t, however, ask me to go.
I sent a letter to her. She slipped it under her door that evening, containing four pages of the complete truth and every detail of what transpired at the age of 17.
I never found out if she had read it. In the morning, however, it was gone.
I wasn’t asked to leave by her.
Last Saturday was the day that everything changed.
Before Susan picked up her suitcase and departed for school, there was a tight stillness, the conclusion of an argument that hadn’t really begun. Behind her, the door slammed shut.
Five minutes later, I discovered her lunch on the kitchen counter. Like mothers, I snatched it and raced after her without thinking.
With her headphones on, she continued to walk half a block ahead without turning around.
Calling her name above the morning noise as I crossed the driveway toward the sidewalk, a car emerged from the side street too quickly for either of us to see.
Too quickly, a car pulled out of the side street.
I cannot recall the impact. After the pavement, I don’t recall anything else.
In the ambulance, I woke up for a short while before going to sleep for a long.
I was in a hospital room when I surfaced, and the light had changed sufficiently that a considerable amount of time had gone by.
I lost a dangerous amount of blood, a nurse informed me. My condition was serious, and the hospital had a restricted quantity of my type, AB negative, because it was so uncommon. Fortunately, a donor was discovered.
Chris was present. He appeared to be a man who had experienced extreme fear and was still recovering.
I lost a dangerous amount of blood, a nurse informed me.
I shut my eyes. I tried to speak but was unable. Susan was the only word that came out like a prayer.”She’s currently in the hallway,” Chris remarked quietly. “She has spent the last two hours sitting there. Your life was saved by her. The donor was her.
As Susan sat in a plastic chair outside my door in the hallway, I reflected on all she had said to me in the previous few days. The way you sit with something that hurts is how she sat with it. Just letting it be there, not trying to get away from it.
She spent a considerable amount of time staring at my room’s door. After a brief moment of eye contact, fatigue dragged me back into the shadows.Your life was saved by her.
The second time I woke up, the light was different. Later in the day, it was softer.
The chair next to my bed was occupied by Susan.
She was awake. She was observing me with the cautious attention of someone who had been waiting a long time for something and was unsure of what to do now that it had finally arrived.
I made an attempt to pronounce her name and came near.
She bent over. She then gently put both of her arms around me, as you would when holding something delicate, and pushed her face on my shoulder.
She was paying close attention to what I was doing.
She made the sound of someone putting down something very heavy, sobbing deeply and with relief.
I put one hand on her back and held on, even though I couldn’t raise my arms very high yet.
Susan told me that she noticed people running behind her and shouting all of a sudden. She claimed she had never fled so quickly in her life when she turned back and spotted me on the ground.After some time, she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder, “I read the letter.” “I read it three times.”
I remained silent.”I still don’t forgive you,” she continued. “But I don’t want to lose you either.”
I told her it was sufficient. That was more than sufficient.I’d rather not lose you.
Yesterday, Chris took us home. Susan sat next me in the back seat, her shoulder resting against mine, just like she had done when she was twelve and we had just met.
Since leaving the hospital, Chris hadn’t said much, but during those four days, something had changed inside of him.
I believe that seeing his daughter decide to save my life had put things back in order for him. He hadn’t been able to see past the pain, but it had revealed to him something about the makeup of this family.
Without a word, Chris reached back and covered both of our hands in the driveway before we got out.
Things had been rearranged for him after witnessing his daughter decide to save my life.
The three of us sat there for a while in that special silence that follows a difficult experience once you’ve overcome it.
Together, we went inside. And no one was going anywhere this time.
There is still a long way to go. Rebuilding trust, having difficult talks, and the gradual process of a family coming to terms with one another.
However, we’re traveling that path together this time.
