Chapter 2: Ancestry Test Results / Lyanna

I actually bought the kit, less than five minutes later. The company was located in California, just a one-hour drive from where I lived in Nipton. According to the website, I qualified for free one-day shipping, meaning it would arrive the following day. I pushed it out of my thoughts and went on with the rest of my day and night.

Mira was over at my place having lunch the next afternoon when the package showed up. I grabbed it from the mailbox, and the moment she saw it, her face lit up. “It’s here. Perfect. Let’s do this,” she said, setting her sandwich aside.

“Do we seriously need to collect a bunch of spit from me while we’re eating?” I asked.

“Oh, come on. We’re basically done anyway. Get it out.”

“Isn’t that what you usually say to your boyfriends?”

“Very funny. You know exactly what I meant.”

I opened the box and took out everything inside. It was straightforward enough. I pricked my finger, placed a drop of blood onto the small cardboard sample card, and packed everything back up. “That’s it?”

Mira nodded. “Yep. Just put it back in your mailbox and raise the little red flag. Are you excited?”

I shrugged, doing my best to hide how nervous I felt. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What are you going to do if you get any DNA matches?”

That was exactly what was freaking me out. Instead of answering her directly, I told her I’d be right back and carried the box out to the mailbox. When I returned inside, it wasn’t hard to steer the conversation elsewhere. The truth was, I honestly didn’t know what I’d do if matches showed up. I had no idea why I’d been put up for adoption. My adoptive parents had told me the agency had no information about me at all. The only thing they knew was that a man claiming to be a social worker had brought me in as an infant. He’d said he knew my parents and that they didn’t want to take part in the adoption process or have their names recorded. The problem, my dad explained, was that when the agency tried to look into the social worker, there was no record of him anywhere.

That story had always lingered in my mind. Had I been kidnapped? Or had my parents truly wanted nothing to do with me? My parents didn’t even have my original birth certificate. They managed to locate the hospital where I’d been born, but my birth mother’s name had been listed as Victoria Valora. Everything about it suggested my biological parents weren’t exactly trustworthy. Why would someone not use their real name when giving birth? The only thing I had from them was my name. The mysterious social worker had told the agency that my name was Lyanna.

Over the next few weeks, thoughts about the test came and went as I waited for the results. The website said it could take up to a month. A few weeks later, Mira asked me again if I’d gotten the results yet.

“No again, for the five hundredth time,” I groaned. Each time she asked, my irritation grew a little more.

“Sorry, sorry. I just love stuff like this. I get excited. Oh, and you never answered me when I asked what you’d do if you had any matches. Would you stalk them online? Send them friend requests?”

The idea that my existence alone could completely disrupt someone’s life had started creeping into my thoughts. What if my biological parents had been teenagers who gave me up so they could move on? What if they had families of their own now? Would barging into their lives turn everything upside down?

I didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead, I went with the safest answer. “I don’t know. I’ll see what the test says first and figure it out from there.”

I didn’t have to wait long. Just a few hours later, my phone chimed with a message telling me the results were ready. I didn’t open the email right away. The moment I saw it, my anxiety shot through the roof.

I called Mira to tell her and asked if she could come over. Naturally, she was beyond thrilled and showed up at my place in less than twenty minutes.

My laptop was already open, the email link waiting on the screen. Mira walked in and pointed at it. “Alright, sister. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I took a deep breath and clicked the link. The first few pages explained the process and reassured me that my DNA wouldn’t be shared or sold to any outside companies. Eventually, I reached the section listing possible genetic disease markers. Thankfully, there were none, aside from a minimal chance of developing irritable bowel syndrome someday. Great.

The next page showed potential DNA matches, the one I’d been both dreading and anticipating the most. But what appeared there wasn’t exactly helpful.

“Seriously?” Mira said, clearly disappointed.

The only match was a man who had lived nearly three hundred years ago. I had no idea how they even had DNA from him to compare, but there it was. I leaned back, letting out a breath that carried both relief and disappointment.

“I had like thirty matches,” Mira said. “Most of them were distant relatives, but still. I can’t believe you only have one. That’s wild.”

“Yeah. Oh well. I guess we can’t all have slave-owning rapists in our family tree,” I said, bumping her lightly.

“Hey, don’t be a jerk. You don’t get to pick your ancestors.”

“True. Come on, we need to get the bar ready.”

It was another Friday night, but my mind felt lighter than it had in few weeks ago. Knowing I didn’t have to make some massive, life-changing decision about contacting a stranger and announcing myself as their daughter was a huge relief. For the first time in a while, I was able to enjoy my work without that weight hanging over me.