The man I'd been sleeping with for eight months.
I threw up. Then I threw up again. Then I sat on the bathroom floor and screamed into a towel until my throat was raw.
It couldn't be true. It was a mistake. A glitch in the system.
But I knew it wasn't.
I looked like him. Everyone always said I looked like someone — they just couldn't place who. Same nose. Same chin. Same weird curve to my eyebrows.
He said I reminded him of someone. Someone he lost.
My mother. Twenty-four years ago.
I called her at 3 AM.