‘Mom, Mom,’ I say, squeezing her hand softly hoping to make contact with her other side. ‘Mom.’ Tears slide down my numb face, an iceberg surrendering to the sun. ‘Who am I, Mom? Did you take me, Mom? Am I adopted?’

There’s no reaction, no confession. Unraveling the piece of paper burning a hole in my hand, I lay it on the bed and read it.

‘Nothing makes sense, Mom. You have to help me. Does Dad know, does Danny know?’

Her eyes move slightly, her lips part. My heart is going to explode. Leaning forward, I hold my ear close to her lips.

‘Tell me, Mom. Tell me.’

‘Woof-woof.’

Chapter Forty-Five

‘It must be completely gone now.’

‘What’s gone?’ Jeff says, handing me a mug of coffee.

‘Her memory. She barked at me, for fuck’s sake. The woman thinks she’s a dog.’

Jeff sits facing me from the opposite side of the kitchen island. The piece of paper I took from Dr. Reilly’s office sits on the counter between us. Jeff thinks it’s self-explanatory. Mom is not the woman who gave birth to me, according to these results. Unless, he says, there’s been a massive mistake.

I’m holding out for the mistake. Hoping that maybe the blood samples got mixed up or something. I don’t care if I get into trouble for breaking into Reilly’s office. I’ll make up some shit. Actually, I’ll tell the truth.

‘You’ll have to face your dad, Becca,’ Jeff says, swiveling on the stool. The coffee is doing very little to invigorate me. Missing a complete night’s sleep has dulled my ambitious plans. I need to sleep, to put the night between yesterday and today.

The rain crashes against the window like it’s trying to break in. For a split second I forget where I am. This room, the beautiful decor, the crisp white sheets – this is not my home. Blood, blood results. My body slumps into the pillow, heart racing, palpitations putting a beat to my fear. It all comes flooding back: Oakridge, the office, the results, Mom, not Mom.

‘Jeff!’ I fly into a panic, jumping out of the bed and running into the living room. Jeff is sitting with his back to me on the couch, strumming his guitar, headphones on.

‘Jeff,’ I say, lifting the earpiece of his headphone. He hears my fear, pulls the headphones from his ears, wraps his arms around my trembling body.

‘It’s okay, Becca. It’s going to be okay.’

Nothing is going to be okay. I don’t know who I am. Taking comfort from Jeff’s embrace, I try to calm myself, taking deep breaths. Pulling away from his hug, I wipe my eyes and notice the big moon lamp switched on in the corner of the room.

‘What time is it?’ I say.

‘It’s after six. You slept for hours.’

‘I have to go.’