After Four Daughters, My Husband Finally Got the Son He’d Been Begging For – But When He Held Our Newborn Boy for the First Time, His Words Made My Stomach Drop
None of this made sense.
I stared at him.
“Because you asked him to help us.”
Aaron looked back at the bassinet.
“Your son has his birthmark, Elena. The same shape. The same place.”
For a second I actually laughed, because I thought he was joking, because none of this made sense.
“He was alone with you.”
“Aaron, what are you talking about? He’s your son. What does Michael have to do with…”
“Don’t.” He held up one hand. “Don’t say his name to me like you don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice cracked.
“He was at the house. Every week. He was picking up the girls from school. He was alone with you.”
“A DNA test. Right now.”
“Because I was seven months pregnant and you were working overtime, Aaron. Because he was helping us. Because he is your best friend.”
“Don’t.”
Heat bloomed across my chest, sudden and stinging — my milk letting down at exactly the wrong moment, soaking through the thin hospital gown in two dark circles. I sat up too fast and the stitches pulled, a hot bright tug low in my body. I reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Then do a test,” I said. “A DNA test. Right now. Today. I don’t care what it costs, I don’t care what you have to sign, do it.”
“Don’t you dare do this to us.”
