Three Years of Being Certain
For three years, I lived convinced I’d done the right thing. I dated. Advanced in my software career. Moved downtown. I told myself I was free.
But sometimes, late at night, I remembered Emma’s face when I handed her that test. That unreadable look. That question. And I wondered—too late—if I’d misunderstood everything.
I dismissed those thoughts. The test was clear.
Then I ran into Thomas Chen.
The Conversation That Destroyed My Certainty
We’d known each other since college. He’d been at our wedding. Sent a gift when the baby was born. I hadn’t spoken to him since the divorce.
When I saw him at a café one morning, his expression stopped me cold. Not anger. Disappointment.
“Marcus,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Three years since you left Emma and your son.”
The emphasis made my stomach twist.
“You know why I left.”
“Sit down.”
I did.
“You ever consider the test could’ve been wrong?” he asked.
I scoffed. “It was a reputable lab.”
“They still make mistakes,” he said sharply. “And they did. That test was wrong. Noah is yours.”
The words felt unreal.
“Emma never cheated. It took her months to prove the error—mislabeling. Contamination. By then you were gone. She tried to reach you. You wouldn’t listen.”
My hands trembled.
“That look you told everyone proved her guilt?” Thomas continued. “She told me about it. She was trying not to cry. Trying to understand why the man she loved suddenly believed she’d betrayed him.”
I couldn’t breathe.
