The Question That Broke Everything
One evening, after putting the baby to sleep, Adam sat beside me. His face was drawn, voice quiet.
“My parents… they want a DNA test.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“They read some article about… false paternity. They just want clarity.”
Clarity. As if our son’s very existence was a question mark in their minds.
“Do you think we should?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
Adam hesitated. That hesitation cut deeper than words ever could.
No shouting. No tears. I kept my voice steady. “Fine. But only if we do another test too.”
He looked confused. “Another one?”
“For you,” I said. “To find out if your father is really your father.”
The silence between us was heavy. Then, slowly, Adam nodded.
The Truth Comes in Envelopes
We took our son’s sample quickly. For Adam’s, we waited. We invited his parents over for dinner. His mother, Denise, arrived with a fruit pie. His father smiled, unaware.
Adam handed his dad a new eco-friendly toothbrush, saying it was a sample from work. The test was done and mailed the next day.
And then, I brought out the envelope.
“Since there were questions,” I said, handing it over.
Denise leaned forward, almost eager.
I read it aloud: “He is 100% Adam’s son.”
Her expression faltered. That moment of smug anticipation turned into stunned silence.
But it wasn’t over.
Adam pulled out a second envelope. “And while we were testing…”
He turned to his father. “You’re not my biological dad.”
Denise’s hand trembled on her wine glass. Her voice finally came, low and defensive.
“You had no right—”
“No,” Adam said, voice firm. “You had no right. You accused my wife of betrayal. And now, you’ve exposed your own.”
His father stood and left. Denise sat in silence, tears forming but unspoken.
