“YOU said I ain't your daughter?” Orlanda’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I ain't Orlanda Grimes?”

She looked straight at Mrs. Grimes, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Her eyes shimmered, not from tears alone, but from a kind of dawning, a shattering of everything she had ever believed.

“Then who am I?”

Even Oswald and Nathan, who had sat like composed observers until now, were visibly rattled. Nathan shifted forward in his seat, staring at the couple with disbelief. Oswald, his usually impassive face clouded, was frowning, his jaw tight, knuckles clenched on the armrest.

Mr. Grimes looked away. His throat moved as he...