Fifteen years after raising our son together, my husband suddenly said:
“Ive always had doubts. We need a DNA test.”
I laughedit seemed ridiculous. But my smile faded when we actually went through with it.
It happened on a Tuesday. We were having dinner, and out of nowhere, he gave me this icy look.
“Ive wanted to say this for a while,” he muttered, “but I didnt want to upset you. Our son doesnt look like me.”
“But he looks just like your mum! Weve talked about this!” I argued.
“I dont care. I want the test. Or were getting a divorce.”
I loved him. I adored our boy. Id never been with anyone elsenever even thought about it. But to ease his mind, we went to the clinic and did the tests.
A week later, the doctor called and asked me to come in urgently. My hands shook in the waiting room. When I walked in, the doctor looked up from his papers and said,
“You might want to sit down.”
“Why? Whats wrong?” My heart was pounding.
Then came the words that shattered everything.
“Your husband isnt your sons biological father.”
“What? Thats impossible!” I nearly shouted. “Ive never been unfaithful!”
The doctor sighed.
“Thats not the strangest part. You youre not his biological mother either.”
The room spun. I couldnt breathe.
“What are you saying? How?”
“Thats what we need to figure out,” he said. “Lets redo the tests to rule out a mistake. Then well dig into the records.”
We redid them. Same result. For two weeks, I walked around in a daze. My husband barely spoke, just stared at me like Id betrayed him. I cried myself to sleep, holding our boywho wasnt ours at all.
We started diggingold hospital files, nurses notes, anything. Most records were lost, but eventually, the truth came out.
Two months later, we learned the truth: our baby had been switched at birth. Our real child was given to another family, and wed raised theirs.
Worsethis wasnt the first time it had happened at that hospital. Theyd covered it up, but we had proof.
I didnt know how to feel. The boy I loved with my whole heart wasnt mine by blood but he was still my son.
It took my husband time to process it.
And somewhere out there, our real child was growing up in a strangers homemaybe just as confused as we were.
