I rushed to the hospital determined to uncover the truth behind our birth records. A nurse found my name, my twin’s, and my mother’s in the system—but then she paused. “There’s a note here you might want to read,” she said softly. She turned the screen toward me, revealing a faded highlight underneath the delivery report: “Temporary evacuation protocol in effect during birth.” She explained that the night we were born, a power failure forced staff to move all newborns to another wing. Everything had been documented quickly under emergency conditions. “Your information is accurate,” she continued, “but there may have been a mix-up no one noticed at the time.”
Back home, my sister and I sat with our parents at the kitchen table as I shared what I learned. Silence settled over us. My dad stared at the table; my mom clasped her hands tightly. My sister finally whispered, “So… I might not be biologically related to you?” I nodded, my chest tight. Then Mom reached for our hands and said gently, “I held you both minutes after birth. I raised you. I loved you. Biology doesn’t replace that.” My sister’s expression softened, and the tension eased.
