The Wedding That Almost Became a Crime - When Love Meets Biology, The Truth Can Be Deadly.
One test. One secret. One wedding that almost didn’t happen.
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
The rain hit Carlton like it had a personal grudge. Sheets of
water hammered the chapel roof, turning the courtyard into a shallow lake and
sending guests sprinting from their cars with jackets over their heads. Inside,
the air smelled of roses, hairspray, and nerves. But Amelia Hart barely noticed
any of it. She was staring at her phone, her pulse thudding in her ears.
A single message from her GP glowed on the screen:
“Call me back immediately. It’s about the test.”
She’d done the pre‑marital genetic screening because the
doctor insisted. “Just routine, love. Good to know these things before you
start a family.” She’d laughed. Liam had laughed. They were both healthy, both
annoyingly compatible, both convinced nothing could possibly go wrong.
But the doctor had called three times in the last hour.
Her fingers shook as she hit redial. The call connected on
the first ring.
“Amelia,” the doctor said, breathless. “You need to stop the
wedding.”
Her stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
“There’s been a match. A close one.”
A knock rattled the door. “Millie?” her father called. “You
ready, sweetheart?”
She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even swallow.
“What kind of match?” she whispered.
The doctor hesitated. “A first‑degree relative.”
Her breath caught. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” the doctor said softly, “you and Liam share fifty
per cent DNA.”
The room tilted. Her bouquet slipped from her hand and hit
the carpet with a dull thud.
“You’re siblings.”
The words echoed in her skull long after the call ended.
Across the courtyard, Liam Turner was fighting with a
cufflink that refused to behave. His best mate Josh was giving him a speech
about marriage, responsibility, and how he’d better not cry during the vows.
Liam wasn’t listening. His phone had buzzed twice — his mum, then the clinic —
but he’d ignored both. Today wasn’t the day for medical admin.
Then the door burst open.
His mother stood there, pale as a ghost, clutching her
handbag like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Liam,” she said, voice cracking. “We need to talk.”
He frowned. “Mum, what’s going on?”
She shut the door behind her. “It’s about the donor.”
He blinked. “What donor?”
Her lips trembled. “The sperm donor. The one we used to
conceive you.”
The world seemed to pause.
“Mum… what?”
“We couldn’t fall pregnant naturally. We went to a clinic in
the nineties. They used Donor 42.”
He stared at her, stunned. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because,” she whispered, “Amelia’s mother used the same
donor.”
Josh swore under his breath. Liam felt the floor shift
beneath him.
“You can’t marry her,” his mother said.
Back in the bridal suite, Amelia’s mother barged in without
knocking. Her mascara was smudged, her face blotchy.
“Millie, darling, we need to talk.”
Amelia looked up, hollow‑eyed. “You knew.”
Claire flinched. “I didn’t know it would be him. I didn’t
know—”
“You used a donor,” Amelia said, voice flat. “You never told
me.”
Claire’s shoulders sagged. “We wanted a baby so badly. Your
father couldn’t… We thought it didn’t matter. We thought love was enough.”
“And you never thought to tell me before I married someone
who might be my brother?”
Claire burst into tears. “We didn’t know Liam existed. We
didn’t know the donor was used so many times.”
Amelia’s phone buzzed again. A message from Liam:
“We need to talk. Now.”
Her pulse hammered. Claire grabbed her hand, begging her not
to go, but Amelia was already moving.
They met in the hallway between the suites — Amelia in her
half‑done wedding dress, Liam in his half‑buttoned shirt. Both looked like
they’d aged a decade in an hour.
“You knew?” she whispered.
“I just found out,” he said, voice raw. “My mum told me. I
swear I didn’t know.”
She searched his face — the freckles, the jawline, the eyes
she’d memorised. Were they hers? Were they his? Were they both?
“Liam,” she said, barely audible, “are we…?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The clinic’s trying to confirm.
They said there might’ve been a mix‑up.”
“A mix‑up?” she snapped. “We’re about to get married. This
isn’t a bloody misplaced file.”
He reached for her hand. She pulled away.
Behind them, both mothers appeared, arguing in frantic
whispers. Then the chapel coordinator poked her head out.
“Five minutes, everyone.”
The four of them stared at her like she’d spoken in another
language.
“We can’t go through with this,” Amelia said.
“Not until we know,” Liam replied.
The clinic director arrived twenty minutes later, drenched
from the rain, carrying a folder that looked like it had been grabbed in a
panic. He ushered them into a side room.
“There’s been a serious error,” he said, wiping his glasses.
“The initial match was correct — you share fifty per cent DNA. But that doesn’t
necessarily mean you’re siblings.”
Amelia stared at him. “What else could it mean?”
He hesitated. “Twins.”
Liam choked. “Mate, that’s worse.”
The director shook his head. “No — listen. The match was
between Amelia and Donor 42. But Liam’s sample… didn’t match Donor 42 at all.”
Silence.
“What?” Amelia whispered.
“Liam’s biological father was not Donor 42. His mother was
given the wrong sample. A clerical error. The donor used for Liam was Donor
17.”
Liam’s mother gasped. “No… no, that can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
Amelia felt her knees weaken. “So Liam and I…?”
“You’re not related,” the director said. “Not genetically.”
Relief washed over her — but it was tangled with something
darker. Anger. Betrayal. A sense that the ground beneath her life had shifted
forever.
Liam exhaled shakily. “So we’re okay?”
The director hesitated again.
“There’s one more thing.”
He slid a document across the table.
“Donor 17 fathered at least eighty‑three children in Victoria
alone. Possibly more interstate.”
Liam’s face drained of colour. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Amelia stared at the page — a list of birth years, suburbs,
clinic codes.
“Eighty‑three?” she whispered. “How is that even legal?”
“It wasn’t,” the director said. “Record‑keeping was poor in
the nineties. Some donors were used far more than they should’ve been.”
Liam rubbed his temples. “So I could have… dozens of half‑siblings
out there?”
“Yes.”
“And I could’ve married one of them?”
“Yes.”
A cold shiver ran through Amelia.
The wedding was back on — technically. But nothing felt the
same.
Liam looked at her, eyes pleading. “Millie… do you still want
to do this?”
She opened her mouth — but no words came out.
Because suddenly, she wasn’t sure.
Not about him.
But about the world that had created them.
A world where love could be real — but biology could be a
ticking bomb.
The rain hammered the chapel roof.
The guests waited.
The flowers wilted.
And Amelia Hart stood in the doorway of her own wedding,
wondering whether she was walking toward a future she chose — or one she’d been
engineered into.
She took a breath.
And stepped forward.
✍️ Author’s Note
Thank you for reading this story. If it moved you, shocked you, or made you think, please take a moment to like, comment, share, and subscribe. Your support helps this blog grow and encourages me to keep creating stories that spark conversation and emotion. I’d love to hear your thoughts — drop a comment below and let’s talk.
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