“They want me to get tested,” I said.
A flicker of relief crossed her face. “We want to be a family again.”
I held his gaze.
“No,” I said calmly. “You want something from me.”
The change in the room was immediate.
The truth beneath the words
In the priest’s office, it became clear that the encounter had not been spontaneous.
The documents had already been submitted.
The arrangements had already been discussed.
In those documents, I did not appear as “abandoned”.
They described me as someone “temporarily placed away from home during a difficult time.”
A careful lie.
A cleaner version of the truth.
The priest’s voice was calm, but firm. “Why wasn’t the whole story revealed?”
No one answered.
Because it hadn’t been an oversight.
It had been a choice.
They came to a place where forgiveness was expected.
Saying no couldn’t feel like a failure.
They were not there for reconciliation.
They were there for the advantage.
A decision that belonged to me.
I agreed to take the test.
Not because of them.
For the girl.
“If I can help, I will,” I said. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
Days later, the results arrived.
It was not compatible.
Not even close.
