He said it while I cradled our daughter in the hospital bed. Hours after I’d gone through labor. As if years of love and loyalty could be undone by a single glance at our newborn’s features.
The Loneliest Weeks of My Life
We went home, but it wasn’t together. Alex said he needed “space.” He moved back in with his parents, leaving me alone with a newborn and a house filled with silence.
Then came the first call.
Alex’s mother.
Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
“If that baby isn’t Alex’s, you’ll get nothing from this family. Not a penny.”
I hung up in tears. I hadn’t cheated. Ever. But suddenly, I wasn’t a wife or a mother — I was the accused.
The Results — and the Fallout
Two weeks later, Alex returned. He sat across from me in the living room, the unopened envelope in his hands.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t flinch.
He opened it. His eyes scanned the page.
“She’s yours,” I said quietly, bitterness laced through every syllable. “Like I told you.”
He looked up, defensive.
“You think this was easy for me?”
“Easy?” I asked, voice rising. “You abandoned me in the most vulnerable moment of my life. You let your mother threaten me. You didn’t trust me — or us.”
When I mentioned the threats, his expression shifted. “I didn’t know,” he muttered.
Emily, holding Sarah, walked into the room then. She’d heard enough.
“Maybe you should leave.”
And he did.
The Second Betrayal
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