My Husband Refused a DNA Test for Our Daughter’s School Project — So I Did It Behind His Back, and the Results Made Me Call the Police

I’m just… done.

***

Later that week, Lindsay came over. She brought cupcakes and a paint-by-numbers kit.

Tiffany sat cross-legged on the living room floor, opening the box. “Are you mad at Uncle Mike?”

Lindsay didn’t hesitate. She lowered herself onto the floor beside her. “I’m mad that grown-ups lied to us. I’m mad that people made selfish choices.”

Greg’s calls have been brief.

Tiffany’s hands slowed. “But you’re not mad at me?”

“Never at you. Not even a little, Tiff. I’m not mad at your mommy either.”

I stood in the doorway, holding a dish towel I didn’t need, watching my daughter’s shoulders relax.

“You two hungry?” I asked. “I was going to make tacos.”

“Can we do nachos?” Tiffany’s face brightened.

We moved around my kitchen like we had done it a hundred times before.

“But you’re not mad at me?”