“I don’t understand this, but I’m not leaving. We’ll figure it out together.”
She collapsed against me, crying, and I held her and our daughter as tightly as I could. We stayed like that until Lauren’s exhaustion from labor and the shock took over, and she started to drift off.
“I need a second,” I murmured, easing away. “I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes, red and scared, followed me. She was afraid I wouldn’t return, but I couldn’t stay in that room with my thoughts spinning.
In the hallway, I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. I needed answers, not air. “James!” My mother’s voice cut through, sharp and cold.
She stood by the window, arms crossed, her face hard with disapproval—the look that used to scare me as a kid. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. I wasn’t ready for her judgment.
She didn’t hold back. “James, you can’t stay with her after this. That baby isn’t yours.
You saw her.”
“She’s mine,” I said, but my voice wavered. I wasn’t sure. That doubt was tearing me apart.
“Don’t be foolish, James,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Lauren’s betrayed you. You need to face the truth.”
Her words hit like a knife.
Betrayal. I wanted to yell that she was wrong, but a small, ugly part of me wondered if she was right. “I don’t know, Mom,” I admitted, feeling like the floor was crumbling beneath me.
“I don’t know what to think.”
She softened slightly, touching my arm. “You deserve better, James. She’s not who you thought.”
I pulled away.
“No. That’s my wife and my daughter in there. I’m not walking away.”
She gave me a pitying look.
“Just don’t let love blind you, James.”
I turned away, done with her doubts when I had enough of my own. I headed to the hospital’s genetics department, each step heavier than the last. The doctor was calm, explaining the DNA test like it was no big deal.
But for me, it was everything. They took my blood, swabbed my cheek, and said results would come soon. I paced the waiting area, my mind replaying Lauren’s desperate pleas, her tear-filled eyes.
Then I’d see our baby’s eyes—my eyes—and that dimple. But my mom’s voice kept creeping in, calling me a fool. When the call came, my heart pounded so loud I barely heard the doctor.
“The test confirms you’re the father,” she said. Relief flooded me, followed by guilt so heavy it hurt. How could I have doubted Lauren?
How could I let that poison into our happiest moment? The doctor explained recessive genes, how traits from way back could show up. It made sense, but it didn’t erase my shame for wavering.
I hurried back, clutching the results like a lifeline. When I opened the door, Lauren looked up, her eyes full of fragile hope. I crossed the room and handed her the paper.
Her hands shook as she read, then she broke down, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick. “I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
She shook her head, pulling me close, our daughter between us.
“We’re okay now,” she said softly. As I held them, I made a silent promise: no matter what came next, no matter who tried to pull us apart, I’d protect my family. This was my wife, my child, and I’d never let doubt divide us again.
