In the middle of an argument, my wife revealed that I might not be the biological father of our 15-year-old son

“Just a long day. Can you take out the trash? It’s overflowing.”

I glanced at the bin. “Didn’t we agree Evan would handle trash duty this week? Part of that responsibility talk we had?”

Julia’s shoulders tensed. “Just do it, Dave. I’ve been asking him all day.”

“He needs to learn—”

“For God’s sake!” She slammed the wooden spoon down. “Why does everything have to be a teaching moment? Just take out the damn trash!”