I never imagined that something as simple and fun as a DNA test could unravel everything I thought I knew about my life. But that’s exactly what happened. My name is Billy, and for as long as I can remember, I was the only child in a loving family. My parents doted on me, gave me everything I wanted, and never let me feel alone.

Just last week, my dad surprised me with the latest gaming console out of nowhere. When I asked why, he laughed and said, “Does my favorite son need a reason?” My mom playfully added, “You mean your only son?” and Dad smiled, “Even more reason to spoil him.” That was our life—happy, simple, and perfectly complete—or so I thought. Everything changed on my eighteenth birthday when I decided to take one of those ancestry DNA tests. I didn’t expect anything big, just thought it’d be cool to find out if I was part Viking or something. I kept refreshing my inbox all day, anxiously waiting for the results. “Billy, honey, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” Mom joked from the kitchen. “Sorry, Mom! I’m just excited!”

When the email finally came, I opened it with excitement. But that excitement quickly turned into confusion and then disbelief. Listed in the results was a close relative—Daniel. A sibling. I stared at the screen, reread the name, rubbed my eyes, and checked again. That had to be a mistake. I’ve been an only child my whole life. I called the testing company immediately. The support rep cheerfully told me the results were confirmed and accurate. My stomach dropped. How could I have a brother and never know? That evening, I waited for Dad to come home. As soon as he walked through the door, I followed him into the living room.

“Hey, Dad, can we talk?” He nodded and smiled. “Sure, what’s on your mind?” I hesitated before asking, “Do you know someone named Daniel?” In that instant, his expression changed. He looked pale and startled. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked quietly, glancing around to make sure Mom wasn’t nearby. I told him about the DNA results, and he sighed deeply. “Listen, don’t tell your mom. Years ago, I had an affair. She doesn’t know. If she finds out, she’ll leave.” I nodded, agreeing to keep it secret, but something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t sleep that night, staring at the DNA results, wondering what to do. Should I reach out to Daniel? Would I be betraying my dad? In the end, I messaged Daniel. He responded within half an hour.

“Billy? Oh my God, is it really you?” After a few messages, we agreed to meet the next day at a café. I told Mom I was going to hang out with a friend. The moment I saw Daniel, I froze. He looked just like me—it was like staring into a mirror. “Billy?” he asked, standing up. I nodded, still in shock. We sat down, neither of us knowing what to say at first. Then Daniel spoke, “Remember the lake near our old house? We’d throw rocks and play on the rusty swing. And Scruffy, the dog—he followed us everywhere.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t grow up together.” His smile faded. “What do you mean? We lived together until you were five or six. Don’t you remember the fire?” “Fire?” I asked, stunned. He nodded. “The house burned down. Our parents weren’t home. You pulled me out. After that, you were adopted, and I was sent to foster care.” I was speechless. “That can’t be true. I’m not adopted.” “Billy, you are,” he said gently. “I don’t know why they never told you.” When I got home, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The next day, while my parents were out, I snuck into Dad’s office. I found documents confirming everything Daniel said. There had been a fire—caused by faulty wiring in an apartment building my adoptive parents owned. They’d ignored complaints to save money. The fire that took my biological parents and split up Daniel and me was their fault. Then I found adoption papers. They hadn’t taken me in out of kindness. They did it to cover their tracks. That night, I confronted them. “I didn’t know you owned the building that caught fire,” I said, showing them the documents. Dad tried to stay calm but looked terrified. “Why were you in my office?” he asked. “I met someone,” I said. “Someone who remembered me. From before.” His face told me everything I needed to know. I packed my things and left. Daniel offered to let me stay with him. As I walked out, Dad kept saying he was sorry, but I wasn’t ready to forgive. That night, over dinner, Daniel looked at me and said, “They took you from me. From us.” I didn’t know how to respond. My whole life had been a lie. But in the middle of all that pain, I found something real—my brother. And I was grateful for that.