When Daniel looked at me across the café table, something shifted. His expression wasn’t confused or defensive — it was shocked. Hurt. Like the story I believed didn’t match the one he had lived.

“You think I’m the affair child?” he asked quietly. “Billy… you don’t remember that day?”

I shook my head.

He took a slow breath. “We were twins. We lived together until we were five. Same room. Same school. Same birthday parties. Then one day… you were gone.”

My stomach dropped.

“What do you mean, gone?” I asked.

Daniel stared at his coffee for a moment before answering. “Our parents separated. It was messy. Really messy. They decided to split us. Mom took me. Dad took you. They told us it would be temporary. But then… the years passed. And no one ever brought you back.”

My heart started racing.

“That’s not possible,” I said. “I’m an only child. My parents never mentioned anything about a divorce or another family.”

Daniel looked up at me. “Then someone changed the story.”

I left the café shaking.

That night, I confronted my father again. This time, I told him everything Daniel had said. The color drained from his face. He sat down slowly, like the weight of years had finally caught up with him.

“There was no affair,” he admitted quietly. “You and Daniel are twins.”

He explained that after the separation, custody became a battle. Both parents wanted to start over. Both wanted a clean life. In the end, they agreed to split the children — and never speak about the past again. When he remarried my mom, they decided it would be easier to raise me as an only child.

“They thought they were protecting you,” he said. “They didn’t want you growing up between two broken families.”

But all I could think about was one thing.

I didn’t lose a brother last week.

I had lost him thirteen years ago.

The next day, I met Daniel again. This time, we didn’t talk like strangers. We talked like two people trying to recover time that should never have been taken from us. Same laugh. Same habits. Same memories slowly coming back.

That DNA test didn’t ruin my life.

It gave me my brother back.

And now, for the first time since we were five years old, we’re finally part of the same story again.