My best friend of 37 years suddenly asked me to take one LAST photo together during our beach trip. When I asked why she said “last,” she gave me an unsettling smile and whispered, “Because tomorrow, you’re going to find out who I really am… and you may never want to see me again.”

At 4:15 in the morning, I picked up my phone and called Paige.

She answered on the first ring. She hadn’t been asleep either.

I couldn’t speak. I just breathed.

“You found it,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question.

“The DNA thing,” I managed. “Russ’s laptop.”

On the other end of the line, I heard her start to cry.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” she said. “I wanted it to be at the beach, with the waves, with you holding my hand. Not like this. Not alone in the middle of the night.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“Since when did you know?”

“Since I was sixteen. My mom told me the night of my junior prom, when I asked why I had your dad’s finger.” A shaky breath. “I went to your mom the next day. She begged me never to tell you. She said it would break your heart about your father. I promised her, Mer. I was sixteen. I didn’t know how to unpromise something.”