The scent of old wood, lemon polish, and the faint, sweet smell of dust from the fabric department—this was the smell of home. Mia Garrett breathed it in like a tonic, letting the familiar calm settle her nerves before the day's battles began. She carefully adjusted a display of hand-knitted scarves, their vibrant wool a defiant splash of color against the worn, dark oak floors of Garrett's Emporium.
A bell above the door jingled, a sound as familiar as her own heartbeat.
"Good morning, Mrs. Henderson! Right on time," Mia said, her face breaking into a genuine smile at the sight of the elderly woman shuffling in.
"You're a dear, Mia," Mrs. Henderson rasped, leaning heavily on her cane. "The prescription came in?"
"Of course it did." Mia reached under the counter for the small, carefully wrapped package. "We'd never let you down. It's the generic the doctor approved, just like you asked."
The old woman's relief was palpable. "Bless you. I tell you, I don't know what I'd do if you kids closed up. My grandson tried to show me one of those websites... all flashing lights and nonsense. Gave me a proper headache."
Mia's smile tightened at the edges. She placed a reassuring hand on Mrs. Henderson's gnarled one. "Don't you waste a single worry on that. The Emporium has been on this corner for seventy years. It isn't going anywhere." The lie was practiced, delivered with a warmth that almost masked the bitter taste of fear. It was the same one she told her ailing father over his ledgers, the same one she repeated to her brothers when the red-inked bank statements arrived.
As Mrs. Henderson left, the bell jingling softly in her wake, Mia's phone buzzed on the glass countertop. A text from her older brother, Liam, illuminated the screen: Don't forget. The Chen thing is tonight. 7 PM. Look presentable.
Mia sighed, running a hand over the faint wood stain on her jeans. The Chen thing. An invitation they couldn't refuse. The Garretts' biggest sponsor, the Chen family's support was a lifeline, keeping the Emporium's doors open and funding the massive research investment in their DNA project. The Chens had seen potential where others saw only a failing store. Tonight was about proving they were right.
"Presentable," Mia muttered to the empty store, her kingdom of beautiful, unsellable things.
A few hours later, standing in her one "good" navy-blue dress in the vast, minimalist foyer of the Chen residence, Mia felt like a smudge on a pristine canvas. The party was a study in quiet opulence. No thumping music, just the low, cultured hum of conversations about mergers, international markets, and investment portfolios. Chloe, the birthday girl, was a vision of curated perfection in a cream-colored sheath dress, her smile a constant, polished accessory.
Mia found her brothers, Liam and Noah, looking like sailors lost at sea near a towering ice sculpture that was slowly melting into a punch bowl.
"Remind me why we're subjecting ourselves to this particular form of torture again?" Noah, the younger one, whispered, tugging at the collar of his ill-fitting shirt.
"Because we need them," Liam replied, his voice low and tense. "Every cent of our research is in that case. Without their continued backing, we're finished. You know how Dad is about asking for more."
"Community relations?" Noah scoffed quietly. "We're the charity case they invite out of pity. I feel like we should be holding out a tin cup."
"Remember the plan," Mia interjected, her voice low but firm. "We are confident. We are professional."
"Servers are holding," Liam reported, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Noah, the more people-oriented of the two, just looked nervously at the crowd.
Their moment came when Mr. Chen approached. "Liam, Noah, Mia. I'm glad you could make it." His eyes fell on the professional case. "And what's this?"
Liam finally looked up, a spark of pride in his eyes. "This, Mr. Chen, is the future. The RootSource 2.0." He opened the case. "A rapid, at-home DNA test with a ninety-minute preliminary result."
Mr. Chen's polite interest sharpened. "You've developed this yourselves?"
"It was a team effort," Mia said smoothly, stepping forward. "We saw a gap in the market for something more immediate and engaging."
Liam, seizing the moment, raised his voice. "In fact, why just hear about it? We have prototypes. Let us show you!"
A wave of intrigued murmurs swept through the crowd. Soon, Liam and Noah were handing out kits, troubleshooting the app, their focus entirely on the technical execution. Mia moved through the crowd, selling the dream, her heart soaring. This was it.
The ninety-minute mark approached. A hush fell.
"The servers are updating now," Liam announced, his voice ringing with technical triumph.
The first sounds were of delight. "Oh! It says I'm 65% Irish!" another exclaimed, "We're related! Our grandfathers were brothers!"
But Mia's eyes were drawn to the Chen family. Mr. Chen was staring at his phone, his brow deeply furrowed. He showed it to his wife. Her face mirrored his confusion. They compared their screens, whispering fiercely to each other.
Then Chloe checked her phone.
The color drained from her face. A small, choked gasp escaped her. "No," she whispered. Her phone clattered onto the marble floor, the screen shattering.
"Chloe?" Mr. Chen said, his voice tight.
She didn't answer. She looked at her parents with pure, unadulterated terror, then stumbled into her mother's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"It's wrong! It's not true!" she cried, her voice hysterical.
The party atmosphere froze. The cheerful chatter about ancestry results was replaced by worried murmurs. All eyes were on the sobbing heiress and her distraught parents.
Liam stared, his confidence replaced by panic. "No, no, no. The algorithm is flawless. The servers are—"
"Liam, not now," Mia hissed, her business mind racing through PR nightmares and damage control.
But the real shock came from her own family.
Noah, looking pale, had pulled out his laptop. "I'm running a diagnostic... but the initial data stream... Chloe Chen's result... it's not linking to Mr. or Mrs. Chen's profile at all." He looked up, his eyes wide with scientific horror. "According to this, Chloe isn't their daughter."
A cold silence enveloped the three Garrett siblings.
Then Noah's eyes darted across the screen, his fingers flying. "But... that's not the only anomaly. The 'New Relative Match' flag is going crazy for Mr. and Mrs. Chen." He stopped, his breath catching. He looked up, his gaze landing not on the Chens, but on his sister. His voice dropped to a stunned whisper. "Mia... it's pinging a high-confidence match for you."
The world tilted.
Liam snatched the laptop. "That's impossible. We didn't sequence Mia. Her profile isn't in the system." He stared at the data, his face ashen. "But... the app is using the party's location data and cross-referencing public genetic databases... and it's a match. John Chen and Mia Garrett. Parent-Child."
The three of them stood there, a frozen island in the sea of the party's stunned silence. The Chens were shattered by the revelation that Chloe wasn't theirs. The Garretts were shattered by the revelation that Mia wasn't theirs.
Mia looked at the brothers she had fought alongside, struggled with, and loved her entire life. They were staring at her as if she were a stranger they thought they knew. The equation of their family no longer balanced.
Liam finally looked up from the screen, his voice hollow with a grief that had nothing to do with business. "Mia... if you're his..." He couldn't finish.
The unspoken words hung in the air, more devastating than any failed product launch: Then whose daughter are you? And who is our sister?
Their triumphant night lay in ruins. "This is a disaster," Liam whispered, the words thick with despair.
And at the center of the wreckage was Mia, belonging to neither family, her own identity suddenly and violently erased.