The judge was skeptical but granted one final test. They wouldn’t test my blood or saliva this time. They needed a sample of cervical tissue—from the source of the births.
The waiting period was agonizing. My kidneys were functioning at 12%, and my children were staying with a foster aunt, forbidden from visiting. I stared at the clock, wondering if I was about to die a branded kidnapper.
Finally, the results came back. The DNA from my organs didn’t match my blood—it matched my children. I was my own twin.
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