Michael ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd developed in the past few days. The DNA results had been a revelation. He wasn't a "Johnson." He was a "Sterling." The implication was profound. The Johnsons were good people, loving, supportive, but... well, they were *nice*. Sterling, from what he could see of their lives online, were adventurous, successful. They traveled, they took risks, they thrived.
He'd spent hours scrolling through their profiles, examining their photos. Their homes were bigger, their cars shinier. Their smiles seemed to possess a genuine, unburdened joy. He contrasted their lives with his own, the steady, predictable routine of his accounting job, the modest house, the comfortable but unexciting life he'd always known. A bitter taste coated his tongue.
The phone rang. It was his mother. He swallowed hard, trying to sound normal. “Hey, Mom.” Her voice, usually a comfort, now felt like a gentle, almost mocking, reminder of everything he wasn't. They chatted about nothing much. He listened as she gushed about the family's annual summer camping trip. He wanted to hang up. Instead, he forced himself to laugh, a hollow sound that echoed in the silence of his apartment.