After a long convalescence, she finally took stock of her life. She was now just 60, too young to retire but also not strong enough to practice law like she used to.

What could she do? Teach? She contacted the prestigious law school she and Tom had attended and cadged an offer to lecture a few hours a week. That was something! She’d be active, useful, and surrounded by bright young minds!

Teaching helped, but at the end of the day, she was alone, sitting up in bed watching late-night TV — bad late-night TV! Later she would attribute what happened next to that late-night talk show and its ditzy guests.

It was 2 am and a big black woman in a massive wig was interviewing a thin white one with almost no hair. Their mouths were opening and closing soundlessly, and at last, Dorothy relented and turned up the volume.

“…my mother,” said the thin white woman wiping at her rabbit-pink eyes. “I asked her, but the truth is she didn’t know…”

The black hostess turned incredulous eyes towards the camera before looking back at her guest. “Honey, your mama didn’t know who her baby-daddy was?”

The thin woman blushed, or rather, she broke out in ugly red blotches. “My mother had some godless years, Mavis, but she’s walking with the Lord now!”

“Amen!” cried Mavis enthusiastically, then she asked, “But how did she not know?”

“It was those Woodstock days, Mavis,” said the woman. “People were sinning and following the ways of the devil and indulging their flesh…”

“But you found your father,” Mavis interrupted before the thin woman started preaching. “How did that come about?”

“Well, my son sent in my DNA and my husband’s as a Christmas present. And I can tell you, Mavis, I was mad…Some mysteries belong to the Lord…”

“Yes, yes,” said Mavis impatiently. “We all know that, but how did you find your daddy?”

“They sent us this report, Mavis, and there it was as bold as brass: Sturgis Lee Kersey. And seven more names of siblings — brothers and sisters, you know? You could have knocked me over with a feather…”

At that moment, Mavis gestured and Dorothy saw a smartly dressed girl usher in eight scrawny people — obviously the thin woman’s long-lost relatives. “This is where I get off!” cried Dorothy, and she switched off the TV.

But the blotchy face of the thin woman kept rising in front of her eyes, and those purple cracked lips said, “I wanted to know where I come from, and how come he didn’t love me.”

Dorothy got up and went to her bathroom, turned on the lights, and looked in the mirror. She whispered, “I want to know where I come from, and how come she didn’t love me.” The next day, she decided to search learn more about her own roots.

After doing a considerable amount of research, Dorothy settled on a company that seemed to be the most reliable. She ordered the DNA test, took the cheek swab, and sent it off.

A month later she received the results. One part was a bewildering flood of information about her ethnic heritage but in another section of the report, she saw the words ‘49.96% match’ with the photo of a red-head young woman whom the company identified as Michelle Simpson, 33, her daughter.

“My daughter?” she whispered. “I don’t have a daughter. I don’t have any children whatsoever!” Dorothy sent off a blistering email, accusing the company of incompetence and threatening all kinds of legal mayhem.

The company replied to her through the telephone a few days later. “Mrs. Weaver,” the smooth-voiced man on the other side said. “We’ve consulted our technical team, and faced with your assertion that you have never been pregnant or given birth, they offer the possibility of you having an identical twin.”

“An identical twin?” gasped Dorothy, flabbergasted. “But…Oh my God! I was raised in the foster system…I had no idea…”