Arabella set a yellow plastic block on my knee.

“Keep it safe for me,” she instructed.

I took it, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.

Gabriela opened a small white box on the counter.

Inside lay a plastic hospital ID bracelet, official birth records, a tiny pink knit hat, and an unopened DNA test kit.

“I bought that paternity kit when Arabella was six months old,” she said.