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My parents said they were throwing me a surprise party for my thirtieth birthday. When I walked in, seventy-five relatives were waiting—but no one smiled. My father handed me a folder and said, “These are the DNA results. You’re not our child. We want our money back.” My mother grabbed my car keys. And that’s when a man I’d been told was dead stepped forward, clapping slowly.
The Birthday Tribunal I am thirty years old. I have spent the last seven of those years working amidst the beep of cardiac monitors and...
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