Rage surged through me again. “So she agreed to raise a child who wasn’t legally hers?”
“She believed what I told her,” she insisted quickly. “I said you gave him up.”
I was beyond livid!
We both looked at Stefan and Eli, who were laughing and racing toward the slide. They moved the same way, leaned forward the same way, and even tripped over their own feet identically.
“She believed what I told her.”
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My chest tightened, but something else rose beneath the pain. Resolve.
“I want a DNA test,” I said.
The woman nodded slowly. “You’ll get one.”
“And then we involve attorneys.”
She swallowed. “You’re going to take him.”
The accusation in her voice caught me off guard.
“I want a DNA test.”
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“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admitted honestly. “But I won’t let this stay hidden.”
The woman looked older in that moment.
“I was wrong,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t undo five years.”
We walked back together to the kids.
My legs felt steadier than before. The shock had burned into something sharp and focused.
“I was wrong.”
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Stefan ran toward me. “Mom! Eli says he dreams about me, too!”
I knelt and pulled him close.
“Eli,” I said gently, looking at the other boy. “How long have you had that birthmark?”
He touched his chin shyly. “Forever.”
I met the nurse’s gaze one more time.
“This isn’t over,” I said quietly as we’d exchanged contacts before returning to the boys.
“How long have you had that birthmark?”
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***
The following week was a blur of phone calls, legal consultations, and one very uncomfortable meeting with the hospital administration. Records were pulled, and questions asked.
The former nurse, whose name I learned was Patricia, didn’t fight the investigation.
Eventually, the truth stood in black and white.
The DNA test confirmed it.
Eli was my son.
The truth stood in black and white.
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