PROMPT: You send your DNA sample for an ancestry test and receive a rather terrifying and unbelievable result. Now you need to have a challenging conversation with your with your parents.

The printout shakes in your grip. You feel your parents' expectant gaze as you read the results. "It says, 'DNA not found.'"

Your father sets his sherry on the credenza. "What?"

Your mother clutches her pearls. "That's impossible," she cries. "Did you submit the sample like they asked? With the swab?"

You did. Everything was copacetic, which makes these results all the more concerning. "According to this, we have... DNB?"

The silence is deafening.

"It's a typo," your father declares. He folds his arms, strokes his goatee. "It must be."

"You remembered to dab the testing strips?" your mother asks. "Five times each, like they asked?"

Your father holds out a hand. "Let me see those results," he says gruffly.

You pass him the results, as well as the So You Have DNB brochure the company sent. For several seconds, he reads quietly. The color drains from his face--which, apparently, can be a symptom of DNB.

"So what do we do now?" your mother asks.

Your father tosses the results and brochure onto the chaise lounge. "I'll tell you what we do. We call our lawyer. We sue this company for everything they're worth."

"What even is DNB?" your mother asks--a question which, to be fair, gets addressed through a series of cartoons in the brochure. "Is it dangerous?"

Your father gazes, stymied, at the teal and gold bumper sticker of a heart--another token from the company, emblazoned with the words DNB STRONG.

"What do we do now, Broderick?" Your mother takes you by the shoulders, steadying her voice. "There must be some sort of treatment. Is there a medication we can take? What do we do?"

You gulp. "The brochure says, 'Try to appreciate every moment?'"

While your mother reaches for her smelling salts, you dial the DNB support-group hotline listed at the bottom of the brochure.

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