Right after delivery, my husband smirked at the newborn: “We need a DNA test to be sure it’s mine.” I held the baby tightly, tears in my eyes, and whispered, “Fine, let’s do it.” Days later, the doctor stared at the lab results with a pale face and said, “Ma’am, call the police right now.”

the gravity in her eyes pinning me to the floor.

“Furthermore,” she swallowed hard, “the infant shares zero genetic markers with you, either.”

Chapter 2: The Fracture of Reality

The sterile walls of the office seemed to buckle inward. The humming of the air conditioning unit amplified into a deafening roar in my ears. I looked down at the carrier resting continue reading …