My sister adopted a young girl — but six months later, she arrived at my door with a DNA test and said, “This child isn’t ours.”
The rain is coming down so hard it makes the porch light look like it’s shining underwater. When I open the door, my sister is standing there, soaked through, gripping a manila envelope in one hand and holding a little girl’s hand with the other. “This child isn’t ours,” Megan whispers. “Not the way we…