**Diary Entry**
Fifteen years of raising our son together, and then my husband dropped the bombshell:
Ive always had doubts. Its time we did a DNA test.
I laughedthe idea was absurd. But the laughter died when we actually went through with it.
It happened on a Tuesday. We were having dinner when he fixed me with a look that turned my blood cold.
Ive wanted 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 argued.
Doesnt matter. I want the test. Or we divorce.
I loved him. I adored our boy. Id never been unfaithfulthered never been anyone else. But to keep the peace, we went to the clinic. Swabs taken, a week of waiting.
Then the call. The doctors voice was grave: You should sit down.
Why? Whats wrong? My pulse roared in my ears.
And thenthe words that shattered everything.
Your husband isnt the boys biological father.
Thats impossible! I nearly shouted. Ive never been with anyone else!
The doctor sighed. Thats not the strangest part. *Youre* not his biological mother either.
The room spun. What how?
Well rerun the tests to rule out error, he said. Then well check hospital records to understand.
The results didnt change. Two weeks in a fog. My husband silent, suspicious; me clutching our son at night, weeping.
We dug into old hospital files, tracked down midwives, nurses. Pieces fell into place: a mix-up at birth. Our real child had been given to another family; the boy wed raised wasnt ours by blood.
Worst of all, it wasnt the first time that hospital had made such a mistake.
How do you live with that? The boy I loved with my whole heart wasnt mineyet he *was*. My husband needed time to accept it.
And somewhere out there, our true child livesmaybe wondering, just like us.
**Lesson:** Love isnt written in blood. Its written in the years, the bedtime stories, the scraped knees. Biology cant claim what the heart has already claimed.
