Fifteen years after raising our son together, my husband suddenly announced:
*”Ive always had doubts. Its time for a DNA test.”*
I laughedthe very idea seemed ridiculous. But the laughter died on my lips when we actually went through with it.
This all started on a Tuesday. We were having dinner when my husband fixed me with a look that turned my blood to ice.
*”Ive been meaning to say this for a while,”* he admitted, *”but I didnt want to hurt you. Our son doesnt look like me.”*
*”He takes after your motherweve talked about this!”* I protested.
*”Even so. I want the test. Or we divorce.”*
I loved my husband dearly, and I adored our boy. Id never been unfaithfulnot once. But to keep the peace, we went to the clinic and gave our samples.
The results came back a week later. The doctor called, summoning us urgently. My hands shook in the corridor. When I stepped in, he glanced up from his papers and said gravely:
*”Youd better sit down.”*
*”Why? Whats wrong?”* My heart was racing.
And then came the words that turned our world upside down
*”Your husband isnt the boys biological father.”*
*”What?! Thats impossible!”* I nearly shouted. *”Ive never been with anyone else!”*
The doctor sighed heavily.
*”Yes, but heres the strangest part. Youre not his biological mother either.”*
The room spun. I couldnt process it.
*”What are you saying? How is that even possible?”*
*”Thats what we need to figure out,”* he replied. *”Well repeat the tests to rule out error. Then well check hospital records to understand what happened.”*
We redid the tests. Same result. For two weeks, I moved through life in a daze. My husband barely spoke, watching me with suspicion, while I sobbed at night, clinging to our son.
We launched an investigationscouring old hospital files, tracking down midwives and nurses from that time. Much had been lost, but slowly, the picture emerged.
Two months later, we learned the truth: thered been a baby mix-up at the maternity ward. Our real child had been given to another family, and wed been handed the wrong baby.
The worst part? This hospital had a history of such mistakes. The administration had tried to cover it up, but we found evidence.
I didnt know how to go on. The boy Id loved with my whole heart wasnt mine by blood. Yet he was still my son.
It took my husband time to come to terms with it.
And somewhere out there, our real child was growing upmaybe in a strangers home, none the wiser.
