I looked up at my husband—the man I’d loved for six years, the man I’d built a life with, the man who was waiting for me to confirm everything he already believed about me. Tears were streaming down my face, and I couldn’t stop them.
“It says… you’re not the father.”
The words hung in the air between us. Heavy. Final. Devastating.
Evan’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of surprise. He just sat there with his arms crossed like he’d been expecting this all along, like he’d known from the beginning that I was exactly what he accused me of being.
“And there it is,” he said slowly. His voice was calm now, almost peaceful, like a storm that had finally passed. “The proof. You’ve been cheating on me this whole time, and now you can’t hide it anymore.”
He stood up slowly and put both hands on the table, leaning toward me until I could see every line of anger on his face.
“So who is it? Huh? Who’s the lucky guy? Someone from work? Some random guy you met at a bar? An ex-boyfriend you never really got over?”
He was getting louder with each question.
“Tell me, Marina. I deserve to know whose baby you’re carrying in my house. Whose baby you tried to trick me into raising as my own.”
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. The words came out broken and desperate. “I don’t understand. I haven’t been with anyone else. Evan, I swear on my life I haven’t been with anyone else. There has to be a mistake. The lab made an error. We need to take another test. We need to—”
He slammed his fist on the table so hard the envelope jumped and my whole body flinched.
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